An Essence of June
by xjellytotlubz
Summary: What does Sherlock do when there's a few crime scenes that do not link, a serial killer on the loose and a girl whom even Sherlock cannot comprehend? With more murders occurring by the day, Sherlock doesn't always seem to think that perhaps the answer to all is right under his nose.
1. A new case

**A new case**

The sound of children laughing down on the streets of London below was enough to make June's skin crawl. With a hand resting on the horizontal blinds, she opened it a little, just enough to see the children on the street running and chasing each other. Hysterical laughter echoed around the street.

It was early on a Monday morning and June only assumed that the children were on their way to school. Once they were out of sight, June sighed. Pulling her hand away from the blinds, she leant back against the wall and folded her arms across her chest.

_ I could have had a better childhood_. She thought to herself. _I could have had a better childhood_. It was a possibility that haunted her for the past ten years of her life. Now at the age of 21, June could not remove the past from her mind and found it increasingly difficult to move on.

Muffled voices and footsteps were heard from the floor below and June knew that her flatmate, Katie would be downstairs preparing the café for the day's customers.

"June!" Katie called up the stairs. June closed her eyes and let out a loud sigh, evidently not ready for a nine-hour-shift. Footsteps were heard coming up the stairs and June's bedroom door swung open.

"Oh and would you believe it, you're not even changed in your uniform yet." Katie groaned as she saw her. June remained motionless. "The café is opening in five minutes."

"I'm not ready for today." June replied indifferently.

"When are you ever ready for a day's shift?" Katie asked, placing a hand on her hip. "Look if you don't want this job then say so because I'll find someone worthwhile."

"And then you'd kick me out the flat for not paying the rent."

"Well it's your choice, sweetheart."

With that, June pushed herself away from the wall, put on her apron which was hanging on the back of the door and followed Katie down to the café.

Like most days, the shift went by slowly as June walked around, serving customers and cleaning the tables of past customers. Katie worked in the kitchen baking cakes, muffins and coffee. June looked forward to the end of her shift.

* * *

"John," Sherlock Holmes called, his voice echoing through the apartment yet there was no reply. "John," He called again but still there was no reply. "Joohhnnnnn!"

Dr. John Watson came running up the stairs, looking rather flustered and irritated as he walked through the doorway. "What is it?" He spat.

"We need a new sofa. I can feel the springs." Sherlock was lying across the sofa on his back, gazing up at the ceiling in pyjamas and a dressing gown like he had been for the past few weeks.

John frowned. "What?"

"That wasn't a question, John, but merely a declarative statement. We _need_ a new sofa."

John nodded. "Right and what are you going to do about that?"

A few seconds past before Sherlock energetically pushed himself up in sitting position and swung his legs over until his feet were on the floorboards. "Shall we go out?" He asked.

"Uhhm…"

"I take that as a yes," Sherlock jumped to his feet, strolled across the apartment to his bedroom to get changed.

"I take it you're bored." John called through the door.

"I've been bored for the past couple of weeks and you know it, John."

"I've told you time and time again to get out the apartment rather than lounging about on the sofa to the point where you break the bloody thing!"

The door swung open and Sherlock came out wearing his signature long coat and scarf. "And this is why I'm suggesting we go out. Shall we pay Lestrade a visit at Scotland Yard?"

John followed Sherlock down the stairs and out the apartment onto Baker Street. Sherlock hailed the first taxi that past and they both clambered in as the driver took them over to Scotland Yard.

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes. I was just about to call you." Greg Lestrade said as Sherlock and John walked into his office. They firmly shook hands.

"I thought I'd pay you a visit. This boredom of mine seems to exaggerate itself often."

"Well to help you out of your boredom, Sherlock, we have a case on our hands." Greg turned and sat down in his leather seat beside his desk. Sherlock and John exchanged glances before sitting in the other two chairs on the other side of the desk. Greg crossed his legs and passed a file over to Sherlock who opened it and flicked through the papers.

"She was found dead down an alleyway in Camden Town late last night. The police are down there now looking for evidence but I thought I'd get you to help out seeing as you're the one who always seems to know more about _these_ situations." Greg's voice was almost mocking. Sherlock took in a deep breath.

"You do know she's been dead for about ten years now?" Sherlock said as he continued to scan the papers in front of him.

Greg frowned. "Sorry?"

"Judith Herbert." Sherlock looked up and nodded to the pin board behind Greg. Greg frowned and turned to face the board. "You've had that missing poster up there for years. Judith Herbert, the girl who's been accused for murdering her mother at the age of 11 and has been on the missing list for years. It's impossible for her to still be alive now. She's dead."

"But you don't know that." He muttered as he leant forward.

"Anyway, so about this case," Greg started, clearing his throat as he drew their attention back to their original subject. "What do you think of it?"

Sherlock looked at Greg blankly before leaning back into the chair. "It's a murder."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Explain."

"I need to see the body first."

The three took a taxi up to Camden Town. Stepping over the police tape, Sherlock passed the detectives and crouched down beside the dead body of the young girl. Greg hovered over his shoulder, watching his every move as he examined the lifeless body.

Taking out a small magnifying glass, Sherlock studied her facial features, her jewellery, her fingernails and the material of her clothes before smelling them. His pulled her eyelids open and studied her vacant eyes.

"Anything?" Greg asked somewhat impatient.

Sherlock stood up slowly and dug his hands in his coat pockets. He looked at the dead body for a final time before replying sullenly. "Not much."

Greg remained silent as John followed Sherlock back out the alleyway.

"Unbelievable." Greg muttered to himself through gritted teeth, shaking his head.


	2. Analysis

**Analysis**

"Was there really not much about the dead body?" John asked as he and Sherlock took a seat in the corner of a small café in central London. Sherlock, taking off his scarf and coat sat down opposite John, letting out a loud sigh. He remained silent as he examined the salt and pepper pots sitting on the table. John sighed before picking up the menu.

Night had fallen and Sherlock insisted that the two of them should go out for a 'date' at the café after a leaflet advertising it was posted through their letter box. Sherlock had remained silent about the case after leaving Camden Town.

"It's a murder," Sherlock eventually said. "A blow to the head. She was walking home alone after a night out, hence the dress, overly-done make-up and high heels. Someone had pushed her to the ground by the ankles. She has bruises circling round her ankles. And by the look of the rip in her dress and grazed legs, she was dragged down the alleyway, therefore due to her bloody, broken and dirty nails, she tried to scrabble away. There is dried blood on the wall and a dent in the side of her head. The murderer smacked her dead against the wall, killing her instantly."

John nodded as he shifted in his seat. Sherlock, who was leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table, watched John intently.

"The girl was only seventeen. Judging by the puppy fat round her waist and her not-yet developed face."

"Seventeen?" John spluttered. "Would her parents know about this?"

"She's been dead for over 24 hours and the police haven't had any phone calls about a missing daughter. Her parents have split. Her mother running away to live up north leaving her to live with her father who beats her."

"And you knew this because?"

Sherlock didn't respond as he leaned back in the seat.

The black waitress approached them and asked for their order. John ordered black coffee for both of them and Sherlock demanded for a basket of bread to share. Once the waitress was gone, John turned to face Sherlock.

"Now what?" He asked as Sherlock pressed his fingers to his lips in deep thought. John raised his eyebrows, expecting an answer from Sherlock but he knew he wouldn't receive one. "We can't keep this from Lestrade. You've been told enough times that you shouldn't go off on your own without consulting the police." John wasn't intending to tell Sherlock what to do, nor was he condescending him. He knew that Sherlock knows better but sometimes his stubborn attitude can get the better of him.

"That's why I play the role as a consulting detective." Sherlock said indifferently.

"A role that you created yourself."

"And how many times have they in the police department doubted my assumptions?"

John paused a minute before nodding. It was true. In some cases the police didn't like to believe Sherlock's analysis until the very moment when the criminal was caught.

"Coffee for two." The black waitress said as she placed two mugs of coffee on their table as well as their basket of bread. As the waitress left, Sherlock looked at another waitress who was wiping down a table not far from theirs. Once he had caught her eye, she flushed and quickly hid her face behind her long auburn hair. Sherlock watched her as she tried to gain her composure again as she picked up a pile of dirty plates and scuttled through the double doors at the back. Sherlock then turned to the mug of coffee that was sat on the table in front of him while John tucked into the bread and jam.

Sherlock sniffed. "I like this café," He said. "We should come here again soon."

* * *

It was the evening and once June had finished her nine-hour long shift, she used the time to walk out of the café. She had a thumping headache and a brisk walk through the cool night in London would be a good way to clear her mind. Zipping up her black leather jacket, June quickly ran across the road and walked along the embankment.

The conversation she over-heard between the two young men in the café earlier that day was ringing her in head. One of them declaring their role as a consulting detective and then talking about the murder of a young girl. It had intrigued her and she couldn't help but listen in. Until one of them caught her listening.

June found herself walking back into the heart of London towards the local gym and sports centre. It was still open during the evening and both men and women were walking in and out of the front doors. June watched the ones that she had passed as she walked in. The reception seemed rather busy with people as she squeezed past to get to through one of the double doors round the side. The doors lead to an alleyway which seemed a lot quieter than the reception but there were still people walking past. The brick-walled hallway past the swimming pool and changing rooms and eventually led to a staircase going down. June paused at the top of the stairs, a smile growing on her face as she saw the sign on the wall saying 'ARCHERY'. Quickly, she skipped down the staircase and followed where the hallway took her. Eventually she reached another set of double doors which led her into a large hall. At one end was a line of targets lines up side-by-side; the other side were lockers, benches and pinned to the wall were bows. The hall was empty as archery wasn't a particularly popular sport for most people late in the evening.

June walked across the hall, taking in her surrounding and headed for the wall which held the bows. Slotting a two pound coin into the machine on the wall, June managed to easily remove the bow off its hook and admire the craft work of the bow. She then took off the elbow patches off the wall and fastened them round her elbows.

There were ten targets in total and about forty feet in front of each target were holders containing five arrows. June approached the arrows and gingerly removed on from its container. It was a metal arrow, just like the bow which June was not particularly fond of. A metal bow and arrow tended to decrease the flexibility of the hold and June wasn't used to the tough texture of it, not like her wooden bow and arrow she hid in her apartment above the café.

With the arrow attached to the bow, June held it in position and aimed at the target, a little above the red circle in the centre. She breathed in and out heavily as she steadied her grip on the bow. After making sure that she was happy with her aim, she pulled the arrow back further and released. The arrow shot through the air and hit the target.

Bulls-eye.

June relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief as she smiled to herself. It was the first arrow she shot for a long time and June was satisfied that her aim and archery skills were still as strong as it was when her father taught her as a young girl.

June picked up another arrow and moved onto the next target. Shooting, she got another bulls-eye followed by another and another. June's confidence and pleasure of doing her childhood favourite sport again increased as each target she hit was a bulls-eye.

Once she had reached the last target, June took her time, determined to hit ten targets in a row. She slowly pulled back the arrow, breathing in and out heavily as she steadied her grip.

"You have a good aim." A male's voice came from behind.

June, startled, quickly released the arrow which hit the outer ring of the target. Frustrated, she turned around. Sat on one of the benches was a slim man with long, dark brown hair which was swished to one side. He was wearing a black business suit with a stripy tie of an awful colour. June narrowed her eyes and dropped the bow down by her side.

"I've never seen someone with as much skill as _that_," He stood up and started to walk towards her. "I'm impressed."

"It takes a lot of practice." June said clearly although she felt somewhat embarrassed and angry that a) this man had been watching her and b) he messed up her last shot.

The man stuck out his arm. "The name's Steven White."

June hesitated before taking his hand but she did not shake it. Just merely looked at it. Steven chuckled and shook her hand firmly.

"Sorry." June apologised, shaking her head. "I'm not brilliant at this whole greeting new people thing."

"I guessed that. And you are?"

"June Lawrence."

There was a moments silence as Steven let go of her hand and smiled broadly. June, who felt somewhat uncomfortable, crossed her arms over her chest.

"And you were watching me because?" She questioned.

"Well," Steven started as he dug his hands in his trouser pockets. "Not many people come down here this late at night to shoot some arrows."

"It's a habit of mine," June quickly said. "I prefer it quiet."

Steven raised an eyebrow and June nervously looked at the double doors on the other side of the hall.

"Tell me," Steven said. "Why does a young girl like you wish to hide her talent away? I haven't seen anyone _that_ good at archery in a long while," The corners of his lips curled upwards. "You should be proud."

Flattered, June relaxed a little in Steven's presence. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"I'm really not as talented as you're making me out to be."

"Oh don't be so modest. You are and there's nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart."  
June bit at her lower cheek but found herself smiling. No one other than her father told her that her archery skills were good.

"Sorry, who are you again?" June asked.

"White. Steven White. Human resource manager of this gym," Steven gestured the ceiling of the hall with his hand. "I've been working here for the past six years."

June nodded and glanced at her wristwatch. "Well it was lovely to meet you Mr White but I'd best be off." June took a step forward but Steven took her hand.

"No, call me Steven, please." He said.

June smiled a little as she managed to shake his hand. Before she left, Steven handed her his business card.

"If you're in any trouble, June, I'm only a phone call away. And this hall is open for your use at all times."

June felt his eyes on her as she left the hall. But without hesitation, she threw his card into the nearest bin. She still couldn't trust anyone.


	3. The body unknown

**The Body Unknown**

It was the early hours in the morning and Sherlock was sitting by a desk in one of St. Bartholomew's Hospital's laboratories. With a microscope in front of him, Sherlock was looking at samples from the dead girl in Camden Town. He had been there for most of the night and most nights for a week, taking sample after sample and examining them in silence. John on the other hand found himself falling asleep in the nearest seat after giving up trying to stay awake. Sherlock did not seem at all tired from researching the dead body and continued to stay wide awake.

John found himself being violently woken up after hearing a loud smash. Nearly toppling out of the seat, John shook his head as he gripped hold of the desk for support. Sherlock was on his feet pacing up and down the lab. His hands resting against his lips in prayer position liked he did a lot when in deep thought.

John closed his eyes tightly before opening them to survey the room. On the floor not far from him was a petri dish smashed into a million pieces which Sherlock must have thrown.

"Problem?" John groaned.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath which John did not understand yet he didn't bother to ask Sherlock again. The look of frustration in his eyes made it clear to John that he wanted to be left alone. John, groaning with tiredness again slid out of the chair.

"Well I'm going to get some more coffee," He said. "I'll be down in the canteen if you need me," He headed for the double doors, stretching his legs on the way. "Of course, it would be nice if you could at least allow me to help once in a while. It'd be a privilege, Sherlock." As he opened the door, he bumped into Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, who nodded before stepping aside to allow John out. In silence, Mycroft walked into the lab and closed the door behind him. He looked at his little brother who was back on the stool, looking into the microscope.

Mycroft cleared his throat before slowly approaching his brother.

"Funny," He started. "Never have I imagined that my brother would be so stumped over one small case."

Sherlock did not move, nor did he respond.

"A seventeen year old girl being murdered on her walk home from a night out and you can't even find any reasons as to why it happened and who killed her."

Sherlock leaned back and looked at Mycroft. "Would you like to do the honours?" He asked, folding his arms. "Clearly you believe I'm incapable of understanding what this _bloody_ thing is about." Sherlock's anger and frustration took over as he smacked his fist onto the desk.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock's fist before raising his eyebrows. "Haven't you thought that it's just an out-of-the-blue murder?" He asked. "Sherlock you spend all your time trying to pin-point exactly what's going on with everything, trying to find reasons to every dead person."

"There's always a reason to murders," Sherlock grumbled. "Usually because there was something wrong between the victim and the murderer, revenge maybe. But _this_ case has no links. None whatsoever," Sherlock picked up another Petri dish and placed it under the microscope. "The murderer left no marks on her body and no clues so I can't figure out who the hell he is."

Mycroft placed his hand over the eyepiece of the microscope just before Sherlock was about to look through. "Take a break, Sherlock," He said calmly. "You need it; you've been up all night long doing this for over a week now."

"And you think I haven't done this before?" Sherlock snapped, waving his hand away.

Mycroft sighed as he took a step back and put his briefcase on top of the desk.

"Just a question." He said as he opened it. Sherlock rolled his eyes as he watched his brother take out a file from his case. "Judith Harris," Mycroft continued. "You believe her to be dead."

"I know she is dead. Ten years since her disappearance. It's clearly impossible that she is still alive. She killed her mother at the age of eleven and ran away. At eleven years old there's no way you can survive on your own."

"What about her older brother?" Mycroft asked as he passed the file to Sherlock. "He disappeared a day before her mother was killed."

Sherlock sighed. "This case that you and Lestrade have been waffling on about for the past decade is not of my concern. She is dead," Sherlock scowled at Mycroft. "This is more important." He gestured to the microscope and petri dishes.

Without another word, Mycroft left the file on the desk, picked up his briefcase and left the lab. Sherlock glanced at Mycroft as he walked off before looking back through the eyepiece. It was the first time he was completely bewildered over a murder.

On the way out of the hospital, Mycroft passed John who was walking beside the lab assistant, Molly Hooper, who was struggling to keep up with John's long strides. As they passed, John met Mycroft's eyes and gave him a tired nod.

They both walked into the silent lab where Sherlock was still studying the case. Molly gave John a nervous look before they both approached Sherlock. John placed the cup of coffee on the desk beside him, not expecting a reply from Sherlock as he turned to return back to his seat. To his surprise, Sherlock muttered "thank you."

Molly hesitated before she stood beside Sherlock. She opened and closed her mouth a fair few times but she wasn't able to say anything. Quickly, she turned as if to leave.

"Have you got the body, Molly?" Sherlock asked his eyes still fixed down the eyepiece.

Molly turned around to face him again, a smile forming on her face. "Yes," She said. "I uhh, she's out in my lab do you want me to-"

"Come on, John," Sherlock said as he slid out of his seat. "I may need you." On the walk out, Sherlock picked up his long coat and put it on. John scrabbled to his feet, picked up his coffee and followed Sherlock with Molly not far behind him.

They walked down the hallways of the hospital and took the stairs that led down to the laboratory holding dead bodies. Sherlock stood to the side and waited by the double doors as Molly swiped her key card on the scanner to open the doors. Once they were open, Molly directed them to a table where the body of the seventeen year old girls was. Unzipping the sack which covered her, Sherlock leaned in to examine her face again. He gestured to John to join him.

"Tell me what you see." Sherlock said in a low voice.

Squinting his eyes, John looked at the girl's face closely. He examined the marks on her stone cold skin. He looked at her unkempt hair, almost like straw.

"There's something that this girl has which we haven't seen." Sherlock said as he stood upright, allowing John to find it.

Raising his gloved hand, John gingerly touched her hair until he realised. "Her hair is not real," He said, slightly tugging on it. "Sherlock her hair is not real."

"Exactly." Sherlock said, smirking.

John stood upright and looked at Sherlock. "And what's the significance of her having false hair?"

Sherlock's smirk vanished as quickly as it had arrived. "I don't know," Sherlock then started to jump around the table like a mad bean, pointing at different parts of her body. "She's only seventeen years of age and being that age she has a lot of insecurities about the way she looks, her hair, her body her clothes and her personality. And from this, she…doesn't have her real hair to cover up her on insecurities…she wanted to be someone different…" Sherlock trailed off as he knew that he really didn't understand what this murder was about.

John watched him as he stood there with his mouth open and one hand resting on the table. He blinked a couple of times as he shook his head.

Mycroft was right. It is just an out-of-the-blue murder. There were no connections to it or any reasons as to why.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked warily.

"Yeah, I uhm," Sherlock paused a moment as he frowned. "There's nothing to say about this case," He continued. "Just a random murder."

John raised his eyebrows in shock. Was Sherlock giving up on solving a case?

"Do you need to talk to Lestrade about it?"

Sherlock shook his head and took John by the shoulder. "Let's go out for another date. We haven't visited our little café in over a week."

As Sherlock started pulling John out then door, John looked at Molly and thanked her.

The evening had arrived again and both Sherlock and John were sat in the café at the same table as before by the window. John had ordered a full sausage and mash with onion gravy meal whereas Sherlock stuck to slowly drinking his coffee. Unlike last time, it was the young woman with the long auburn hair who served them rather than the black waitress. She had a sweet yet nervous smile and Sherlock wasn't entirely sure as to what she had to be nervous about. She continually walked in and out of the doors at the back and serving other customers. Occasionally he would catch her sneaking a glance over in their direction.

"We still need to find out who murdered her," John said in between mouthfuls of sausage. "He's still out there."

"I know," Sherlock said softly as he turned his attention to his friend who was happily eating away. "I just can't seem to find anything that will fit. It's just _random_. It makes no sense." Sherlock seemed to hesitate at the word 'random' as if finding it hard to believe himself that this case indeed was rather sporadic.

John nodded as he swallowed his last piece of meat. "We need to get Lestrade into this. The police would be able to help."

"I don't need any help." Sherlock grumbled as he folded his arms.

John rolled his eyes as he looked down at his plate. "Clearly." He said aloud before continuing his dinner.

As Sherlock looked out the window he saw a police car park outside and out stepped Greg Lestrade.

"Speak of the devil." Sherlock muttered.

John looked out the window just as the door opened.

"Ah, Lestrade, how nice of you to join us." Sherlock said as Lestrade pulled out a chair from the nearest table and sat with them.

"Somebody's told me that you've given up on this case." Lestrade stated as he leaned forward clasping his hands in a firm grip.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I haven't given up on the case; I just said that there was nothing much about the murder other that it was out-of-the-blue."

Lestrade watched Sherlock before shifting in his seat. John silently carried on with his food.

"Well," Lestrade continued. "Do you have any idea as to who the murderer was?" Lestrade helped himself to a piece of bread that was sitting in their bread basket.

"No." Sherlock said flatly.

"No idea whatsoever?"

Sherlock shook his head.

Laughter came from the doorway and a male's voice was heard. A voice Sherlock least wanted to hear.

"Well this is exciting, isn't it? The _great_ Sherlock Holmes can't even understand a simple murder." Anderson laughed as he walked towards the table, followed by Sergeant Donavon.

Sherlock groaned at Anderson's presence. "Your opinion on my abilities are completely irrelevant right now, Anderson, nor will they ever be, so why don't you leave your opinions back with the rest of your _mates_ back at the station and see what they make of you?"

"Don't try to outsmart me." Anderson snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm not trying to outsmart you. I outsmart you easily without having to try."

"Okay, ladies, I think it's about time you put down your handbags." John said, stopping the petty argument. Sherlock eyed John before smirking and leaning back in his chair.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Sherlock asked.

"To make fun of our favourite psychopath as he struggles to understand the case-"

"I'm offering you some help, Sherlock," Greg cut in as he leant his elbow on the table, blocking the view between Sherlock and Anderson. "The thing is, there's a murderer out there who we have no idea of and we need to find him before he does anything else."

Sherlock let out a loud sigh and opened his mouth to speak but Greg stopped him.

"And don't be the usual Sherlock that does everything on his own without consulting us."

John gave Sherlock a 'told-you-so' look. One corner of Sherlock's lips curled upwards into a grin and John returned one.

Anderson took a step closer to the table. "I'm _not_ working with this freak!" He hissed pointing a finger to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked over Greg's head at the auburn haired waitress who had been watching them.

"This is why you were hired into this job, Anderson," Greg said indifferently as he pushed Anderson's arm away. "We need to catch him before he catches anyone else."

They all turned to look at Sherlock who was eyeing Greg suspiciously. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak.

"Let's see what our fellow waitress thinks about this." He looked over Greg's head at the waitress and gestured her over. They all turned to look at her.

The waitress, who looked rather startled, glanced behind her to see if he was gesturing to someone else but as she turned back to them, Sherlock nodded at her. With that – with her pen and notepad still in her hands – she moved around the tables across the café towards them, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground.

"What is he doing now?" Anderson muttered impatiently under his breath.

"Can I help you, sir?" I woman said confidently to Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, trying to read her but nothing came through.

"Just your opinion would help," Sherlock said. "If you saw a dead body out in the middle of the street, unattended, what would be the first thing you would do?"

A little taken aback, the waitress glanced at John who was shaking his head.

"Excuse me?" The waitress frowned.

"It was merely a question I just wish you would answer."

The waitress paused, looking into Sherlock's eyes. "Well the simple thing would do is the call the police." Her voice had suddenly become very formal, just as if she knew what they were doing. Sherlock and the waitress stood there for a moment just staring at each other. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Who was she? Why was she so difficult to read? He couldn't even make a simple deduction on her.

"Sherlock, what are you trying to get across?" Lestrade asked, cutting across but neither of them broke eye contact.

"I don't think I ever caught your name." Sherlock's voice was low, almost condescending.

The waitress raised her eyebrows. "That's because I never threw it. Not in your direction anyway."

Sherlock smirked at her wittiness and stood up.

"What is going on?" Greg demanded.

"Oh come on, Lestrade, this is Sherlock Holmes! He'll never make sense!" Anderson spat.

"I'll see you in the morning Lestrade." Sherlock muttered as he slid into his coat. John sighed and shook his head.

"No I don't understand either." He said as he stood up. He then looked at the waitress. "Sorry about that." With that he left a twenty pound note on the table and followed Sherlock. It wasn't long until Greg, Anderson and Donovan left the café and got into the police car. Moments later, the car drove off.

The waitress watched the car drive away through the window before picking up John's money.

* * *

It was close to midnight and June was sat on her bed in her pyjamas, drinking coffee. The lights in her bedroom were off but the light from her laptop shining in her face was enough to let her see what she was doing.

Once the internet had loaded, she opened up a Google page and in the search bar she typed in 'Sherlock Holmes'. Instantly, the first link that came up was a link to Dr. John Watson's website followed by articles about Sherlock. After the scenario in the café earlier that day, June was intrigued by Sherlock Holmes. He had been watching her for the majority of the time that he was there. Almost as if he was analysing her.

Dr. Watson's site had different blogs about the many different adventures that he has witnessed with Sherlock. The first one she clicked on was titled "A Study in Pink." From there she read on.


	4. There's been another one'

**"There's been another one."**

"Just breathe, June," Steven White purred in June's right ear. "There's no need to take this so seriously. Just breathe and release."

Doing as his soft voice told her, June breathed in deeply and released the arrow, just missing the bulls-eye by a couple of inches to the left. June let out a loud groan in frustration.

"If you would stop distracting me in the first place then perhaps I'd be a little less stressed out by this." June hissed as she picked up another arrow and clicked it in place on the bow.

Steven chuckled and took a couple of steps back. Taking another aim, June released the arrow which landed right above the bulls-eye. June frowned as she looked at the target she was aiming at. She had been practising her archery skills all morning and not once had she hit the bulls-eye. Her hands weren't even shaking to prevent her from gaining any good shots.

"How about you sit down and have a coffee, June," Steven suggested as June slumped down on the bench at the other side of the hall. Dropping the bow down by her feet, she rubbed her temples with her fingertips. She had an awfully bad thumping headache after she spent the night reading through John Watson's blog and learning more about Sherlock Holmes who had intrigued her a great deal.

"Late night?" Steven White asked as he sat on the bench next to her. Steven welcomed her in when June walked through the reception once the doors opened that morning. Stating that he used to do archery in his 'younger years' he offered to help June improve her skill. June hated to admit it but she did find – with his help – using the metal bow and arrows a lot simpler and easier to use as she grew in confidence. Until she felt she was being condescended by him that she started to lose focus and her aim became worse and worse.

"Didn't sleep much." June replied gruffly.

There was a long pause for a while as they both gazed at the targets at the end of the hall. June sighed as she looked at Steven.

"So since when did you know everything about archery? You don't look like the sort of person who would have done it before."

Steven chuckled at her comment as he shifted on the bench. "You don't have to look the part to be the part," He said before looking at June. "I started during secondary school and only stopped when I left university."

June smiled. "What did you study at university?" She asked.

"I'm a HR manager. What do you think I studied?"

They both laughed.

"Right." June managed to say after laughing. It was the first time she actually felt comfortable laughing aloud with someone else.

"So what are you doing? Are you at university?"

June shook her head. "I don't study," She said shaking her head. "No I'm just a café assistant. It's all I have to pay the rent for the apartment I'm sharing with my flatmate. She owns the café," June shrugged lazily. "It's all I have."

"What about your family?"

June raised her eyebrows. "Why are you being so nosey?"

Steven chuckled again. "Come on, I'm trying to create a decent conversation with you."

June didn't reply as she thought about her past, glancing down at her hands. _I could have had a better childhood_.

"There's not much to say about them. It was just my parents, my older brother and I living in London. That's all."

Steven smiled and nodded. "You think you can shoot a couple more arrows?"

"Not while you're around, Mr White," June said flatly. "Archery is what I like to do in my spare time _alone_. I like to be _alone_ and I can't take people condescending me."

Steven looked a little taken aback. "I wasn't condescending you."

June rolled her eyes. "Oh of course you weren't. You were just eagerly looking over my shoulder to see if I'm still the same person you were impressed by a week ago."

Steven chuckled for the third time which made June feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"How about I take you out, Miss Lawrence. There's a Costa Coffee just down the road. I'll pay."

"You're a human resource manager; don't you have a job to do?" June stood up and clipped her last arrow to her bow and took a few steps closer to the target.

"Are you always like this when people talk to you?"

June aimed at the target. "I told you before, Mr White, I'm not very good with the hello thing."

"But this isn't us saying hello."

"Mr White, if you spend ten years of your life hiding away in a dingy apartment and not talk to anyone other than your flatmate, do you think that you'll be confident with people asking you out for coffee?"

"I'd embrace the moment." Steven leant back and rested the palm of his hands on the bench.

June smirked. "Of course you would say that." She muttered to herself as she aimed at the wall, a little higher than the target.

"You seem confident to me," Steven pointed out. "You're fine talking to me."

June froze for a moment as she broke up his words as they rung in her ears. The fact hit her like a bullet. He was right. She was fine talking to people confidently and she had no problem talking to Sherlock that night at the cafe. She wasn't as shy and innocent as she wanted to make herself to be.

After a moment of pure silence, June turned her head to look at Steven with a forced smile on her face.

"I'll bring my own bow and arrows with me next time." She said and with that, she raised her bow higher and quickly released the arrow. The bow shot through the air and got caught in the wall just under the ceiling. June turned on her heels, walked over to the stunned-looking Steven, picked up her black leather jacket and walked out of the hall and away from the gym without another word.

June slid her arms through her jacket and pulled it round her chest as she walked briskly through the busy streets of London. Just like Sherlock had done that night in the café, she turned up the collar of her jacket to hide some of her face as if for protection.

After a while, June leant against the stone wall on the embankment and looked out at the river Themes as the wind blew heavily. Steven's words were continuing to ring in her ears. She felt frustrated with herself as she blew her cover. Her innocent act wasn't good enough but a part of her thought that perhaps she should move on. She had spent the past ten years of her life hiding away from everyone and not communicating, creating a shy and innocent personality for the character she wanted to play. Yet she realised that she could no longer play that part any longer. She had to be herself. The woman she grew up to be. The woman who wasn't the same as the eleven year old she was before. It was time to start over and embrace life a little more. If she spent ten years being June Lawrence, she could spend the rest of her life as the same person.

June took in a deep breath, breathing in the London scent as it filled her lungs. Behind her was the sound of chatter and laughter from a small restaurant. Turning round, June leant her back against the stone wall and watched the people through the restaurant window. There a variety of different people sat inside but most of them seemed to be businessmen. Everyone looked so happy and June wondered how one could pass their life being happy with everything they do.

As she looked to her left, she saw John Watson marching in her direction, although his focus was fixed to the ground. With his clenched fists swinging by his sides, John's walk was very rigid, almost army-like. June continued to watch him as he walked straight passed her. As soon as he was a few feet to her right, she whistled. John stopped walking and turned around to look. Once his eyes fixed onto hers, she nodded her head for him to join her. John looked around before approaching her. As he did so, June reached in her back jean pocket and took out her loose change consisting of a couple pound coins, fifty and twenty pence and some coppers. Counting out her money, she pulled away £3.75 and slipped the rest in her pocket again.

John was stood beside her with a frown on his face. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable to be stood by her. June watched him as she passed him the change. John looked bewildered as they met eye contact.

"It's your change," June said flatly as the wind started to blow. "You paid me a twenty pound note for your meal which was only £16.25. Here's your change."

John raised his eyebrows is surprise as he recognised June as the waitress Sherlock had picked on.

"Oh," He said as his face became a little brighter and more welcoming. "Thank you but you can keep it. As a tip."

June smirked as she stubbornly handed John the money. "It's your money."

John sighed as he took her money with a smile. The wind continued to blow and June watched John look out at the Themes. The look on his face clearly showed that he was pondering what to say to her next.

"I'm sorry about my friend the other night," He started. "He can be a bit overpowering like that."

"What, Sherlock Holmes? The one who can tell a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his thumb?"

John looked rather surprises, a smile forming on his face.

"You've read my blog?"

June smirked as she shook hands with John.

"June Lawrence." She introduced.

"Dr. John Watson."

Time had passed quicker than both John and June realised. They took a seat outside the restaurant and John ordered them both a drink. Their conversation mainly covered June's job in the café and life in London. John mentioned his past life as a doctor in Afghanistan and since he came back to London after being shot, he moved in with Sherlock Holmes in Baker Street. June asked him more about his blog and his adventures, so John explained some of the cases he and Sherlock had witnessed in further detail. June enjoyed the story which John had named _The Hounds of Baskerville_. It seemed too crazy to be true but June liked it. She believed him.

"What about you then?" John said once he realised that the conversation had become based around him and his life with Sherlock. "You haven't said much about yourself."

June twizzled her glass of cider and refused to look at John in the eye. "That's because there isn't much to say." She stated.

"Okay then," John leaned back in his seat. "Why the café?"

June looked at him.

John shrugged. "Why did you choose to work at the café?"

"To earn money to help pay the rent." June replied flatly.

"A roommate tends to help."

June smiled weakly. "Yeah and my roommate runs the café. She's the black waitress." John nodded in understanding.

"So you didn't go to university then?"

"No. It's not my sort of thing," June picked up her glass and drank the remaining of her cider. "Don't have much of a future planned."

"You must have at least some idea. Did you have any childhood dreams?" John seemed genuinely concerned.

June looked at John for a moment, half smiling but didn't answer his question. "I'm just seeing where life takes me."

And right on cue there was a scream. A female's scream that came from a bit further down the embankment. John put his pint glass down on the table and looked over June's shoulder, a frown fixed on his face. June turned round to see the one and only Sherlock Holmes running in their direction.

"Here he comes." June muttered to herself as she tried to stop herself from smiling.

"There's been another one," Sherlock said to John breathlessly once he had reached them. "There's been another murder."

John looked a little taken aback. "The same one from the Camden murder?" He asked.

"It's obvious, John. The dead body has just been found further up the embankment," Sherlock tried to catch his breath. "John I may need you. You're going to have to leave this date."

"This isn't a date." John said quickly as Sherlock's eyes darted to June who was watching his every move. Sherlock froze as he recognised her. The girl he couldn't read. Sherlock's eyes surveyed June, her face, her hair, her clothes, her posture and the way her hands were placed on the table yet he still couldn't understand anything about her. Sherlock frowned.

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock, this is June Lawrence. June, this is Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock stuck out his hand with a forced smile. "Please to meet you Miss Lawrence."

June took his hand and firmly shook it. "Likewise, Mr Holmes." They held hands for a little while longer and June could tell and Sherlock was trying to make a deduction over her. He wasn't brilliant at covering up his bewildered expression.

There was another scream and Sherlock, letting go of June's hand ran towards it, followed by John. June looked around her, quickly left some of her change on the table as a tip and ran after them. They ran along the embankment and Sherlock took a sharp turn to the right. A group of people were gathered round something on the pavement. A few policemen came running up the street from the other end and started moving people away. There was one woman who screamed and cried uncontrollably. Whenever a policeman came close to her or the dead body hanging off the edge of the pavement, she hit them and pushed them away, her tears spluttering everywhere.

June, ignoring Sherlock and John, ran past them to the crying woman. Sherlock watched her carefully as she put a comforting arm round the woman and started cooing her. He woman buried her face into June's shoulder as she sobbed. June glanced at Sherlock as she stood up and carefully dragged the woman away to the other side of the street where policemen and cars were stood.

Lestrade, who was stood beside the police cars glared at Sherlock with his arms out to the side as if asking him what he was doing. With that Sherlock took out a small microscope from his pocket and started to examine the dead body.

Broken neck. A cut across his right eye. Bleeding gums. Two broken fingers on his left hand. Of about forty years old. Butcher. Wife and three children. Two small dogs. He cared for his family but he never said exactly where he was going. It wasn't to work as the nearest butchers is on the other side of the river. More crease lines round his eyes than usual for a forty year old. He lied a lot. He had an affair. He had an argument with his wife earlier that morning and she followed him out the house. Somehow the time between leaving the house and getting to that spot on the pavement, the murderer got to him and killed him. Grabbed both sides of his face and broke his neck, killing him instantly. It could be anyone in London who murdered him but because there was no evidence of the killer on the dead body, Sherlock presumed it was the same as before.

Sherlock stood up and looked over at June who was talking to Anderson. Anderson. Why was he talking to her? He couldn't even tell what they were talking about or whether or not June liked him being around her.

"The wife is being taken to the station," Greg said as he approached Sherlock. "It's going to take a long while to calm her down but she's the only evidence we've got."

John knelt down beside the dead body and started to examine his injuries.

"Same one as before." Sherlock muttered.

Greg stared at Sherlock for a moment. "You think this is the same murderer? Sherlock we don't even know if the girl from Camden Town was even a murder."

"Oh so you think she happily smacked her own head against a brick wall to kill herself? Sounds very unlikely doesn't it, Lestrade?"

"Sherlock." John called but he was ignored.

"But you can't just assume it's the same as before." Greg hissed.

"Oh yes I can," Sherlock pointed to the dead body. "The murderer has left no trace on the body. All we know is how this man died."

"Sherlock." John called again.

"It could be a suicide."

"Because people can easily break their own neck. Don't be so thick, Lestrade."

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted. Sherlock and Greg both looked at John who was still crouched on the ground next to the dead body. "You need to look at this."

Sighing, Sherlock knelt beside John and looked at the body. John pointed to a cut across the palm of the butcher's right hand.

"The man died instantly from the broken neck but look at his hand." John pointed to the wound. "He's been dying for about three days now. The cut is fairly new of about three days."

"Blood poisoning." Sherlock muttered.

John nodded. "Exactly. Bacteria has been crawling into his cut and by the looks of it he hasn't bothered to cover or even clean it."

Sherlock examined the cut with his microscope. John watched him as he sat back on his heels. Greg was standing over Sherlock's shoulder. With his hands behind his back, he leaned forward to see what he was doing. Occasionally, he would look over at the police cars.

Sherlock gestured to John and John leaned in close to him.

"We need to get away from Lestrade and the police." Sherlock whispered.

John frowned. "Why?"

"Because they're bothering me, that's why."

John nodded and stood up, sighing as he did so. Sherlock remained crouched on the floor but used his peripheral vision to see what John was going to do.

Scratching the back of his head, John surveyed the street, trying to come up with a plan on how he and Sherlock could get away from the police without Lestrade questioning them. John noticed that June was still standing on the other side of the street. With both hands on her hips, she seemed to be surveying the police standing around her. As soon as she looked at John, he took a little step back. She looked at him intently before nodding. John frowned as he watched her shuffle on her spot. She faced towards his side of the road, glancing at the policeman on his phone just over her right shoulder with her eyes.

Sherlock slowly raised his head to see why John was taking so long, but when he realised that John was looking across the road, Sherlock instantly looked at June. She was standing there and for the few seconds that Sherlock and June were staring at each other, everything seemed to be in slow motion. Sherlock glanced at the policeman standing behind her and realised what she planned to do.

Sherlock smirked a little but then nodded. Everything that followed happened a little too quickly. June elbowed the policeman in the stomach. He dropped his phone and as he leant forward from the blow, June hit him in the face.

Greg spun round to see what the commotion was about as the police started shouting at June as she kicked that same policeman still he fell backwards, hitting his back on the rails behind him.

The policemen gathered round June and tried to pin her down to the ground. Anderson took out his gun and pointed it at her. Sherlock and John froze on the spot watching what was happening.

Somehow, June managed to escape the police. By jumping over their shoulders and pushing them out the way, she bolted down the street and along the embankment. That was when Sherlock ran after her.

"Don't worry, we've got her!" Sherlock shouted as he sped past Greg. John nodded to him as he ran after them.

June took Sherlock and John further and further away from the street and headed more inland. Once the police sirens were heard, she picked up the pace, afraid of being caught.

Sherlock, knowing all the roads of London, took to running through alleyways rather than the main road to catch up with her.

"Sherlock?" John breathlessly called after him, not entirely sure as to what Sherlock was doing. It wasn't until they got down to the end of the alleyway that Sherlock saw June. Before she even had time to notice them, Sherlock grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her back into the alleyway. He had his hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming aloud.

The three of them stood against the wall in silence, trying to catch their breaths as they listened to the police sirens in the distance.

After a while, the police sirens died down till they could no longer be heard. Sherlock glanced at June and slowly released his hand from her face. The only sound around them was the buzz from the citizens of London.

"How did you know that he was a fake?" Sherlock asked between breaths. His voice was low and demanding. June who still had her back against the wall, wiped down her white vest top in irritation. She pushed herself away from the wall and brushed off the wall dust from her leather jacket. She then looked at Sherlock.

"I'm not going to repeat myself." Sherlock said sternly.

June sighed. "His waistcoat," June started. "It wasn't the same as the others. The police uniform is identical, they just differ in size. His was made out of a different material than the rest and the pockets were upside down. A very silly mistake to do but it was clear that he had carelessly sewn them on himself."

Sherlock watched June is disbelief.

"I don't understand," He snapped. "Who are you?"

June looked at Sherlock and gave him a half-smirk. "You're smart. I'll leave you that one to figure out."


	5. The passing of days

**The passing of days**

It was a late Saturday morning and John was slouched in the dark red armchair, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was reading The Guardian on his own, enjoying the peace and quiet of the apartment, making the most of the silence while Sherlock was out talking to Lestrade. As he turned the pages of the paper, John couldn't help but occasionally glance at the file that was left on the coffee table. John had noticed that Sherlock had left this file on the table shortly after the Camden Town murder and not once had he opened it.

John eventually folded up his paper and picked up the file, curiosity getting the better of him. He opened it up and inside was a black and white photo of a young girl which was paper-clipped to a sheet of paper stating her name, age and biography. Only then did John notice that it was Judith Harris: the eleven year old who killed her mother and ran away and has not been seen since. Sherlock believed her to be dead and John found himself believing that that was possibly the case, but if it was, surely the police would have dropped it by now? Lestrade had Judith's case pinned up on his notice board for the past ten years so surely they must believe she's still out there. Lestrade is usually one to believe in everything Sherlock says.

John flicked through the file, reading through information about Judith and looking closely at photos from the crime scene. Her mother was lying across the kitchen floor with a pool of blood around her head so Judith must've bashed her head in…or something.

Mr Hudson, their landlady, walked into the apartment making John jump.

"I made you a pot of tea thinking that you would like one to yourself when you're enjoying the peace and quiet." She said cheerfully as she walked up to him.

John cleared his throat. "Thank you, Miss Hudson. Although I do like this peace, I don't know what I'd do without him."

Mrs Hudson smiled as she squeezed his shoulder. "What's that?" She asked, nodding her head to the file that was in John's hand.

John paused before closing the file. "Nothing." He said as he placed it back onto the coffee table before picking up his tea.

"Another one of those cases of yours," She sighed. "I'm surprised you don't get bored of this. Are any of them the same?"

John laughed and shook his head. "Fancy passing me some ginger biscuits? They're in the tin."

"John Watson, I don't know how much longer it'll take till you know that I am your landlady _not_ your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson walked out of the room.

"Two will do me fine!" John called after her.

"Landlady!" Mrs Hudson called back as she walked down the stairs, making John laugh.

Without further ado, John took out his mobile out of his jean pocket and text Mycroft.

**Know anything about Judith Harris?**

Shortly after he sent the text, John heard the front door bang open and someone running up the staircase. The sound of the footsteps were easily recognised as Sherlock's. John quickly put his phone back into his pocket and picked up the newspaper and began to read again.

Sherlock strolled into the room and slammed down another file on top of Judith's file on the coffee table.

"What's happened now?" John asked, not taking his eyes off the paper.

Sherlock's fingers were resting against his lips in his usual 'thinking' position. "There's been yet _another_ murder."

John sighed. He thought about folding the paper and taking a look at the file but he knew that either way he would know the whole murder story from Sherlock's words. "What? Who? Where?"

"About fifteen years old. Murdered in her own home approximately midnight last night."

John then decided to fold the paper and pick up the file. He opened it and the first thing he noticed was the name printed on the top of the first sheet of paper: CAROL ROOPER. John frowned.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, noticing the look on John's face.

"I recognise the name."

Sherlock ran by John's side and sat on the arm of the chair, obviously excited. "You do?"

"Yeah she's Doctor Roopers' daughter. You know the doctor just down the road. Lovely girl. Just like her father."

Sherlock's brow pulled together as he looked at the file in John's hands. "What? The short blonde woman with the big nose?"

"Blonde?" John looked at Sherlock before raising his eyebrows and turning back to the file. "I don't know who you're on about. She's brunette."

"I'd say it's blonde." Sherlock muttered to himself.

"So how was she murdered?"

"She was strangled to death and then hidden in her mother's wardrobe."

"Her mother doesn't live with her."

"Well it was a female's wardrobe." Sherlock hissed as he pushed himself up off the arm of the chair to stand on the other side of the room.

"Any suspects?"

There was a long pause of silence and John and Sherlock looked at each other. John then instantly knew the answer.

"There's no traces on the body. It's the same as before."

John let out a loud sigh as he rested his head back on the back of the chair. The two of them knew it but neither of them really wanted to say anything.

There was a serial killer on the loose. And he was good and covering up his tracks.

The day seemed to go on forever and so did the night as John and Sherlock tried to figure out what was going on. Notes and photos of the three murders were pinned to the wall. Sherlock had pieces of string attached to different notes as he tried to connect them together.

The days went by and soon enough they had spent a week trying to figure it out without sleeping.

They had piles of books stacked on the table trying to see if they had any clues. John was back in his arm chair, flicking through another stack of books beside his feet. Sherlock was lying on his back on the sofa staring up at the ceiling.

"I think we're really missing something here." Sherlock said aloud although it wasn't directed at John it was more to himself.

John groaned tiredly as he rubbed his eyes. "Sleep is what we've been missing." He muttered.

Sherlock wriggled on the sofa. "And I can still feel the springs."

The phone rung right on cue. John glanced at Sherlock who was laying still. With another groan, he hauled himself out of the chair and answered the phone. Sherlock listened.

"John Watson speaking…yes hello…alright…no we haven't…he says it's the same as before…yeah but…we've tried but we can't, Lestrade…maybe…no…okay, alright I see…where…oh." The sound of a police siren was heard from out in the street followed by opening and closing of doors. Greg ran up the stairs.

"Lestrade, it's three in the morning." John groaned as he leaned back on the table.

Greg smirked. "And I thought you'd be used to this by now, John." He chuckled as he moved over to the sofa with his hands in his trouser pockets and looked at the case pinned to the wall.

"There are no links." Sherlock's voice was rough.

"I see you've made the effort though."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Believe me?"

Greg looked down at him but didn't respond. Sherlock let out a loud sigh and stood up, pointing to the wall.

"They don't link. One was killed in the early hours of the morning in Camden Town at seventeen years old. The second was about forty and was murdered in broad daylight near the embankment. And little Miss Roopers goes and gets herself murdered in her own house. Lestrade we have a serial killer on our hands."

Greg nodded. "Explain further because you know that the guys down at the station aren't going to believe this."

Sherlock just looked at Greg blankly before narrowing his eyes. "No wonder everyone these days are so thick. They don't have a brain like mine," Sherlock hissed as he started to pace the room. "Three random, out-of-the-blue murders in the space on a month. Doesn't that at least make you wonder?"

"Sherlock I do believe you, I just don't think Donavon or anyone else would."

"The question isn't about whether or not they'll believe me, Lestrade, but how are we going to find the killer?"

Greg raised his eyebrows. "And you're sure that there's been no DNA left on the bodies from the killer?"

"Well if there _were_ some DNA left on the dead bodies I would have found the killer by now. Can't you _see _how this has been going on all month? Have you even looked around you and understand that we _have a serial killer_!" Sherlock shouted.

Greg raised up his hand. "Alright, Sherlock. Calm. Yourself. Down. I offered you the help and I'm here."

"Uhm maybe we could find someone trust worthy who may help us," John said, thinking about Mycroft. "I know you'll probably decline, Sherlock, but-"

"June Lawrence." Sherlock muttered.

Greg looked at Sherlock and frowned. "Who?" And then he remembered. "Oh yeah I know. Okay boys, tell me where to find her and I'll take her down to the station. She's going to be arrested for attacking a police officer."

"I wasn't actually talking about June; I was going to suggest Mycroft." John said but Greg nor Sherlock listened.

"He wasn't a real policeman. You have no need to arrest her." Sherlock hissed.

"Not real?" Greg looked rather dumbstruck. "You're now going to tell me that we have false policemen working down at the station?" Greg laughed in disbelief. "This is ridiculous."

"You may think that I'm the psychopath who supposedly makes these things up but believe me when I say this, Lestrade: I wasn't the first person who noticed his falsity," Sherlock strode across the room and turned to face Greg and John. "I don't know how she managed to understand it so quickly but she's smart. June wouldn't have hit that man if she didn't know that he was a fake. I may need her for this."

John frowned. "Hang on a minute, Sherlock. Last week when we saw her and she left, you were complaining about your hatred for her. Practically _insulting_ her because you didn't understand who she is and that you can't figure her out and because of that, you no longer wish to see her."

Silence filled the room.

"Well," Greg started. "This is news to me. Who is this June Lawrence then?"

Sherlock scowled at Greg but didn't reply.

"Just a young lady working at a café. That's all we really know." John glanced at Sherlock.

The silence continued for a little longer.

"Well," Greg broke the silence. "Once you find Miss Lawrence, I trust you enough to bring her down to the station. She _needs _to be arrested."

"What's the name of the policeman she attacked?" Sherlock questioned.

Greg hesitated. "Christopher Burke."

"He fled the station three days ago," Sherlock stated. "You texted me three days ago saying that you seemed to be short staffed in the office but it never occurred to you to check who had signed out."

Greg frowned in thought.

Sherlock carried on. "When was the last time you saw Officer Burke?"

Greg shifted from foot to foot. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and then nodded as he knew that Greg had not seen him in days.

"I think you'd better speak to your pals at the station about him. Perhaps talk to your human resource manager and see what he has to say about the people he employs." Sherlock patted Greg on the back and led him out the room. Greg walked down the stairs in silence and Sherlock watched him out the window as he climbed into the car and drove away. He then turned to John. "Do you think June will be working this evening?"

* * *

Days flew by and soon turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Four months had past and only two more murders had occurred. Out-of-the-blue murders with still no trace of the murderer. It was now the beginning of December and for the past four months, Sherlock and John had taken regular meals at the café. They never spoke to June Lawrence but Sherlock kept a watchful eye on her. It went unnoticed.

However, no matter how often John and Sherlock visited the café, June never served them. It was always the black waitress who instantly took them to their usual table and without further ado she would give them their usual coffee and basket of bread without even asking.

Sherlock watched June as she weaved in and out of the tables, laying hot plates of food in front of her waiting customers and then carrying a dozen dirty plates stacked up her arms.

It was a Friday evening and Sherlock went to the café on his own, leaving John to sleep as he had crashed on the sofa earlier that evening. As Sherlock entered, the black waitress seemed rather alarmed that he was on his own but still took him to the same table by the window.

"Black coffee coming your way." She said before walking away. Sherlock quickly scanned the café before returning his gaze to the window. June was nowhere in sight.

A few minutes had past and Sherlock's gaze remained at the window, watching people and cars that passed by. The buzz from inside the café seemed to have disappeared as he just continued his gaze.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone place his mug of coffee down on the table in front of him.

"So I've noticed that you and Dr. John Watson have quickly become our regular customers."

Sherlock turned his head as saw June Lawrence standing beside him, laying down the coffee. Their eyes met for a second and Sherlock half-smiled.

"You both seem to like your dates." She carried on as she removed her hands from the table and pattered down her apron.

"A date is what it is." Sherlock said as he looked down blankly as his coffee before picking it up. There was another silence and using his peripheral vision, Sherlock saw June look around before quickly taking the seat opposite him. She leant her elbows on the table and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at Sherlock.

"How long have you been together then?" She asked.

Sherlock sighed as he adjusted himself in the seat and tugged at the bottom of his suit jacket. "For a fair few years now." He replied.

June raised her eyebrows. "Tell me how you met."

Sherlock looked up at June with his eyes, realising what she meant. "We're not together like that."

June's intrigued face turned into a frown. "Huh?"

"We're not together in the way you believe us to be."

June laughed. "It just seemed like the reasonable solution. It's pretty obvious, Sherlock."

"And I'm not gay either." Sherlock continued to stare at her as she narrowed her eyes. "We're not a couple."

There was a long pause of silence. June removed her elbows off the table and leaned back in the chair. Sherlock watched her every move and she avoided looking at him, evidently embarrassed. Sherlock's lips curled upwards into a smile as he started laughing to himself.

June looked up and watched him laugh. It then hit her how silly their conversation was which reduced her to laughter too. June covered her face with her hands in embarrassment as she laughed.

"I'm such a despicable human being." She said through her hands.

Sherlock leaned forward and gently took her by her wrists and removed her hands from her face. "It's fine." He chuckled. June flushed, still feeling a little embarrassed as he let go of her wrists.

After a pause, they both open their mouths and spoke at the same time but immediately stopped.

Sherlock nodded. "You go."

June took in a deep breath and shuffled in her seat. "Five murders and you still haven't found the murderer yet."

"No," Sherlock looked quizzically. "Why? Do you think you know?"

June shrugged and shook her head no.

Sherlock watched her for a while longer. He still didn't understand her. He rested his forearms on the table. "How did you know about Christopher Burke? The fake policeman."

"I told you at the time."

"Yeah but not that many people are smart enough to even notice it. You have been let off the hook though. The police are keeping an eye on you but since Christopher hasn't been seen for a fair few months, they're not going to arrest you."

June rolled her eyes. "Well if you _really_ want to know why don't you just visit the HR manager of Scotland Yard? They're the people who employ the staff, maybe they know more about him and what he was like when he applied for the job."

Sherlock stood up and pulled on his coat. "You coming?" He asked as he wrapped his scarf round his neck.

June frowned. "What?"

"I'm merely just asking if you want to come to Scotland Yard. I _want_ you to come with me. You may be needed," Sherlock paused for a moment. "Or you could just stay here." He shrugged before walking away and out the café.

June hesitated for a long while before moving. She took one quickly glance round the café. Katie was nowhere to be seen. With that, she took off her apron, left it on the back of the chair and ran out the café.

Sherlock was out on the main road hailing a taxi. As one stopped beside him, he noticed June running up to him. They both slid into the taxi which drove them down to Scotland Yard. It wasn't a long journey but once they had reached their destination, Sherlock immediately hopped out the car. June followed him out the taxi and through the double doors. They walked through different corridors and climbed up different stairs till they got to the main office. They passed the rows of desks and June felt somewhat uncomfortable as some of the workers sitting by the desks looked at her as she passed. They walked to an office at the end. Sherlock knocked before opening the door.

"Lestrade," He said. "We would like to have a word with your human resource manager if you don't mind."

June poked her head through the door to see Greg who was sat in his leather chair, slowing swinging it from side to side. Greg's eyes fell on June before he stood up.

"Alright," He pushed himself out of his chair. "Come with me."

Sherlock glanced at June before following Greg back through the office, up more stairs and through different offices. One door had a sign saying 'HR DEPARTMENT' which Greg knocked on. After a moment, Greg opened the door ajar and popped his head round. His voice was muffled so neither Sherlock nor June could hear.

After a while, Greg came out and closed the door behind him. "One of them are on their way."

At the exact same time the door opened.

"Ah Mr Sherlock Holmes. I finally get to see the man himself." The HR manager stepped out of the office and firmly shook hands with Sherlock. He then turned to look at June and his face dropped instantly. He nodded. "June Lawrence."

"Steven White." June said bitterly. There was a long pause of silence as June glared at Steven who suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. This time, June held out her hand and Steven shook it firmly. "Pleasure."

"Shall we grab a coffee and sit this one down?" Steven suggested.

"I think that maybe a wise idea." Greg said as he held Sherlock by the shoulder and pulled him down the stairs. June looked blankly before shaking her head and too walking down the stairs. Steven reluctantly followed.

The four of them ordered coffee down in the canteen and took a table for four: June and Sherlock sitting side-by-side opposite Steven and Greg. Sherlock questioned Steven about the process of employing new people into the job and while he explained, Sherlock made a deduction of Steven by looking at the way he gestured with his hands, the way he was sat, the way his long, dark brown hair was slicked to one side and how his blazer was sat on him. He came to the conclusion that he was a liar. He then looked at June sitting next to him to his left and tried to do the same thing and make a deduction over her. There was nothing. He turned his attention back to Steven and slouched in the chair.

June leaned forward and rested her forearms onto the table, and clasping her hands together. "And how do you manage to juggle between two jobs? I guess if you're working as a HR manager down at the gym and here you must be _very_ busy."

Steven hesitated for a little too long. Instead of replying, he picked up his cup and took a sip of coffee. "I no longer work at the gym." He managed to say after a while.

"Oh so you've managed to get a place here then?"

"What?" Greg frowned. "Steven has been working for us for a few years now. This has been his only job."

Steven looked up at June with his eyes as he strummed his fingers on the table. June rolled her eyes and shook her head, unimpressed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Lestrade, do you have Mr White's personal file anywhere on the system?" He asked.

June leant back in her seat. "I'm not one to be a fan of people who lie. It always comes back to you no matter how hard to try to cover up."

"I think you'll find that Mr White has been lying for a long time."

Steven rigidly moved his head from side to side. "I don't understand what exactly the both of you are talking about." He growled.

"Oh but I think you do," Sherlock replied as he leaned forward. "Why did you employ Christopher Burke into the department?"

Steven shook his head. "This is ridiculous!"

"You're a _fraud_!" June shouted and with that she stood up, sweeping Sherlock's cup of water off the table and throwing it in Steven's face before walking out of the canteen. Steven remained motionless as the water dripped from his face. Sherlock laughed.

"Are you _now_ going to explain?" He said but Steven didn't respond. "Lestrade you may need some handcuffs. It's against the law to impersonate a policeman and impersonating a HR manager to employ a false employee does just as much damage."

Steven glared at Sherlock who just shifted in his seat and stared back.


	6. Moving in

**Moving In**

"Who are you?" Sherlock paced up and down the cell with his hands behind his back. Greg was stood beside him, looking down at Steven White who was sat in a plastic chair in the middle of the cell. He was leaning back in the chair and his hands were resting on his knees.

An hour had passed since June had thrown the drink in Steven's face and ran out of Scotland Yard. The three had escorted to a cell where they took questions from Steven in hope to get some answers. He wouldn't explain as to why he had lied about his position or why he employed Christopher Burke. After a while, they closed the door, leaving Steven in the cell on his own.

"He needs to go to court." Greg said quietly as he held the cell door shut.

Sherlock sighed. "June is clever," He thought aloud. "He met her at the gym and pretended that he was the HR manager there and then employed someone who he knew was a fraud. Why's that?"

"That's why we need to sort out a court date. Track down Chris and bring in a few witnesses. You may have to get June for this too," Greg looked over Sherlock's shoulder at Sergeant Donavon and beckoned her over. "I want you to track down Christopher Burke. Find out about his background: where he grew up and his family. And about his occupation and where he could be now. Then get the boys to plan out a court meeting. We need to get to the bottom of this fairly shortly."

Donavon glanced at Sherlock suspiciously before nodding and heading back to her desk. Without another word, Sherlock squeezed past Greg and entered the cell. Pulling out another plastic chair, he sat opposite Steven and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Steven glared at him before smirking.

"You know who I am, don't you?" He said, his playful smirk growing broader as he spoke.

"You could say that." Sherlock replied.

"Prove it, Mr Holmes. I can only say yes or no."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and then leaned back into the chair. He looked at Steven all over, making a quick deduction in his head. He breathed in. "You're not a HR manager at all. You have no background in that area but you use it as a cover. In actual fact you are a spy. A spy from a large gang."

Steven shuffled in his chair. "Tell me how you knew."

"Just from the way you walked up the stairs. The slow delicate footsteps as if you were passing through trying to not be noticed. The way you speak also gives it away. You don't have the attitude of a manager. No. You're too sly for that. You're like a serpent looking for its prey."

"I think I have my eyes set on my prey."

"You're gang," Sherlock cut through him. "How many are there of you?"

"Not a lot. Merely at the number of ten. One of them includes Christopher Burke. You call us a gang but we like the term clique. You see, Sherlock, we're not robbers. Oh no. We don't seek for the opportunity to rob others or even the police. We rob the criminals. We search their cases and while you're dancing away to solve the cases, we're in between the lines making it more, let's just say _complex_."

Sherlock paused a moment as he stared at Steven. "What do you know about the five random murders?"

"No more than you do, Sherlock," Steven looked at Sherlock who was still watching him intently. "But I may give you a clue as to who the serial killer is."

"Who?" Sherlock said carefully, elongating the vowel.

Steven sighed. "Her brother ran away a day before she murdered her mother. She ran away shortly after and was never seen again. You think she's dead."

Sherlock frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Judith Harris. The police are still after her. Perhaps you should be too."

"That has nothing to do with this serial killer."

Steven roared with laughter. "June Lawrence has a brother. I think you may question her about it."

Sherlock stood up and pulled his long coat over his chest. "And I think it's high time to leave June alone, Mr White."

Steven raised an eyebrow. "What makes her so special?"

"Nothing. But I need her because she knows _you_." With that he turned and walked back to the door.

"New year's eve." Steven called after him. Sherlock paused at the door but didn't turn to face him. "There's a public ball. I want you to be there. I'll be there and maybe you might find this serial killer of yours."

Sherlock chuckled. "See you in court." He said as he opened the door and left the cell.

* * *

It was close to midnight and June was sat on the sofa in the living room of her apartment, watching a Hollywood action film. The lights were off so the only light that was prominent was radiating off the television screen. She hugged her knees to her chest and although she watched the film, she found herself thinking about the events of earlier in the evening at Scotland Yard. After she first met Steven White at the gym, she knew she didn't want to trust him. She found it hard to trust anyone and Steven had reminded her why she doesn't. But why had he lied to her? Why did he pretend to be a HR manager of the gym just to get on her good side? The thought of Steven knowing about her existence before and only lied to know more about her made her shiver.

June then stared to think about her three year older brother, Timothy. She hadn't heard from him for nearly four years. June turned to her laptop that was sat on the sofa beside her and just as she went to turn it on, there were sounds of footsteps out in the hallway. June paused the film and listened to the sounds. The footsteps sounded like they were walking in and out of her bedroom.

"Katie?" June called as she looked at the door. There wasn't a reply but the footsteps continued. June pushed herself off the sofa and walked across the small living room. Turning on the light she saw Katie walking in and out of her bedroom, carrying her possessions and placing them in a plastic bag out in the hallway. "What are you doing?" June asked.

Katie stopped mid-step and looked at June. Her face went from angry to somewhat happy as if she was pleased to see her.

"Kicking you out." Said Katie calmly before turning back into June's bedroom. June ran after her.

"Why are you kicking me out?" She snapped, gripping hold of the doorframe.

"Because you are _fired_," Katie picked up a bundle of clothes and shoved them in June's arms. "Do you think I'm going to let you keep this job if you think it's okay to walk out with your boyfriend during a shift?"

"_Boyfriend_?"

"You know, the _great_ Sherlock Holmes who keeps coming over for a meal with John Watson. You just ran out of the café with him."

June sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Well I'm not and that's not my problem, June," Katie stormed back into the room and opened the window. "And I no longer want you to stay here. I can employ someone worthwhile." Katie picked up a bag and threw it out the window. June shouted at her and ran across the room but Katie ignored her and continued to throw bags of June's possessions out the window.

"You can't do this!" June shouted, tears filling her eyes.

"Oh yes I can, June." Katie said indifferently.

"But I have nowhere else to live!" June's voice cracked.

"Again that's not my problem," Katie turned to face June, fire burning in her eyes. "Get out."

June shook her head.

"GET OUT!" Katie shrieked as she shoved June out the room. Katie screamed at June and followed her down the stairs, through the empty café and out the door. It was pouring down with rain outside and Katie threw June's bags out onto the street. June tried to catch them but they all fell onto the wet ground. Katie then slammed the door and locked June out.

"You can't do this!" June shouted again as she banged on the door. "KATIE!" She continued to bang on the door but she knew that Katie would never answer. Hot tears of anger fell down June's cheeks as she turned back to the street and started to pick up her bags. She walked through the streets of London aimlessly. June couldn't think of anywhere she could go. She couldn't afford to stay in a hotel and she didn't know where the nearest bed and breakfast was. She had no way on contacting her brother and even if she did, knowing him he could be anywhere in the world. June knew no one else she could just stay in for the night. She was completely homeless.

June angrily wiped the rain from her face and pulled back her wet hair. She found herself walking further and further away from the café. She wanted to get away from where she used to live, including the gym. In fact, June wanted to find Sherlock.

The streets of London were quiet but she passed one or two people and the odd taxi would pass her. From living in London all her life, June mainly knew her way round, although she was unfamiliar with Baker Street as it was a road she rarely passed.

Just as soon as it looked like the rain was starting to subside, it started to pour again. The raindrops fell harshly on June's skin and her leather jacket started to feel stiff on her shoulders. She stumbled over her own feet every so often as she picked up her walking pace and she struggled to carry her bags containing her clothes and few possessions. Her wooden bow and arrows were tucked away in one of the plastic bag which was rather difficult to carry.

As she reached the end of a street, the plastic bag split and some of her belongings fell and crashed onto the puddles on the pavement. June cursed loudly as she helplessly fell to her knees and tried to gather up all her things.

The sound of a taxi was heard from behind followed by the opening and closing of doors.

"June?"

June turned round to see John Watson running towards her with a look of concern on his face. June frowned.

"What are you doing?" She hissed as she tried to wipe away the strands of hair that were stuck to her face.

"I was just taking a taxi to look for Sherlock. He's been out all night," John looked down at the bags sitting on the ground beside June. "Are you okay?" He asked calmly, the rain beating down on his face and bouncing off his jacket.

Before she could stop herself, June burst into uncontrollable angry tears. She was furious with Katie for kicking her out of the only place she lived in and at the same time she was furious with herself for being stupid as to walk away from her shift thinking that it'll go unnoticed. John rushed to her side and knelt on the ground. He squeezed her shoulder.

"Sorry," June apologised as she wiped her eyes. "I've just been fired and my roommate kicked me out of the flat. I have nowhere to live."

"Why were you fired?" John asked.

June shook her head. "Because I ran away with bloody Sherlock Holmes, that's why!"

John watched her as she cried into her hands. He thought for a moment as he looked at his taxi and then back to June. "How about you move in with Baker Street with us?" He offered.

June stared at him. "What?"

"I'm offering you to live with us for a bit. I can't leave you out in the streets like this. Mrs Hudson would be more than happy to open the spare bedroom for you and…I'm sure Sherlock wouldn't mind if you moved in with us."

June laughed when John hesitated before saying about Sherlock not minding. "You're sure Sherlock would be happy?" She wiped her nose. "Thank you for the offer but I'm sure I can find a bed and breakfast somewhere-"

"What? Spend the only money you have on staying there?" John chuckled. "Come on, June. Mrs Hudson would throw in some coffee for you. And it would be easier for Sherlock to be close to you more often than always going to the café. He needs you. He needs your help."

June took in a deep breath. She originally was going to go to Baker Street and ask if she could stay the night but the fact that John had offered her to move in with them made her feel a little guilty.

John nudged her playfully. June smiled and giggled.

"Thank you." She whispered.

John flashed a smile before standing up and picking up her bags. June followed him into the taxi and he asked the taxi driver to take him back to 221B Baker Street. They sat in silence on the journey. June watched London pass by through the window as John took out his mobile and dialled a number.

"Sherlock do you ever answer your phone?" John hissed. "Where are you? Oh okay…right…Steven White?" John glanced at June. "Yeah well…okay…yes…well uhm I just saw June. Yeah I did…well…Sherlock I've offered her to move in with us."

The journey felt like it took forever to June as she started to ignore what John was saying to Sherlock on the phone. She closed her eyes and fell asleep but jolted awake when they arrived. Picking up her bags, she clambered out the taxi. John took out the door key and opened the front door. He called for Mrs Hudson as soon as he entered.

June stood on the pavement for a moment, staring up at 221B Baker Street. Underneath was Speedy's café which June started to consider applying for a job there. She then followed John into the apartment and up the stairs. At the top, she heard John and Mrs Hudson's voices nattering away. Once she reached the top of the stairs, June took in her surroundings, admiring the small apartment she was going to share with Sherlock and John. It was very homely but she noticed there was a lot of junk sitting on top of the table. She examined the painted outline of the yellow smiley face on the wall and the bookcase on the other side of the room. The kitchen seemed a little bigger than the main sitting room but also felt a little cramped as the table was cluttered with a microscope and other equipment.

"Sorry dear," Mrs Hudson tapped June on the arm. "Sorry, I'm Mrs Hudson your landlady. You must be June Lawrence?"

June nodded and smiled. "Yes. Nice to meet you." She shook her hand.

"Yes, Sherlock has said a lot about you. Says he can't read you and doesn't exactly understand who you are. It's silly really. Sherlock is very rude and can read people like a book. But I'm glad he's met someone like you who he can't figure out-"

June glanced over Mrs Hudson's head at John.

"How about that coffee, Mrs Hudson." He called.

Mrs Hudson looked at June and shook her head. "I am your landlady so this will be a one-off." She said as she walked into the kitchen. June looked at John with a smirk on her face. She felt somewhat pleased that she was an obstacle for Sherlock.

John raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat before offering to show her to her bedroom. Her bedroom was a little bigger than her last one. It over-looked the back of the café and the white metal tables and chairs sitting out on the patio down below. John put her bags down on her bed before leaving her to unpack.

It was in the early hours of the morning and June had stripped down into her pyjamas and a purple dressing gown. Her hair dried from the rain, making her natural curls more prominent which fell over her shoulders and covered her breasts. She had unpacked everything, arranging her clothes into the wardrobe and arranging her books, notepads, laptop and pens on the desk. She had a double bed to herself, unlike her last room where she only had a single bed. On one of the wooden bedside tables she propped up her alarm clock and a photo frame with a photo of her family looking happy. Down at the bottom of the photo was June and her brother, Timothy, with their arms round each other, grinning wildly at the camera. June's father was stood behind her with a firm hand on her shoulder, and her mother was stood beside him, looking lovingly at him. Her mother was wearing her checked pink apron which was covered in flour and her messy dark brown hair pulled back into a bun. She had a broad smile on her face. Her father, on the other hand looked more sincere as he stood perfectly upright and rigid, wearing his military uniform. The photo was taken shortly before he went out to fight in Afghanistan but just the look in their eyes proved how happy they were. _I could have had a better childhood_. _I could have had a better childhood_. _I could have had a better childhood_.

Sherlock had still not returned from Scotland Yard. John lit a fire in the fireplace in the lounge and nestled down in one of the armchairs with his laptop sitting on his knees. Every so often his head would start to bow and his eyes slowly close but he jolted himself awake and returned his gaze to his laptop screen.

June, with her mug of coffee wrapped in her hands, looked along the bookcase, examining the spine of every book. They had everything from the history of the world, world atlas, A-Z of London, the human body and many more. But the one that really caught her eye was called _The Point of Pointism _by Jeremy Billow. Taking the book off the shelf, June sat on the back of the armchair opposite John, resting her feet into the cushion of the seat and read the blurb.

_"Why do we drink tea? Why do we sleep in a bed when the sun is below the horizon? Why is pizza delivered in square boxes? Why do we need to earn money to live? Why are teenagers forced to think about their careers when they haven't even lived? Why are we here? What's the point in our life?_

_Taking in consideration of the points that take up our lives, this book takes a look deep into the way of life and the human ability to do what they want to do. Seeking from the classic ancient history and their ways of living, Jeremy Billow explains the point of human attitude and explains why we live the way we do to this day and the point of ever doing anything._

_Jeremy Billow's debut novel, _The Point of Pointism_ is a story like no other where you will question your own life's abilities."_

June smiled to herself as she opened the book. It was only about 300 pages long and she knew that she would get to the end within the next couple of days.

The first couple of pages had a list of reviews from different newspapers. All of them were positive and stated what a genius Jeremy Billow was. She then scanned the author's acknowledgements before turning to the first chapter labelled _A Point_.

Another couple of hours had past and it was getting close to two in the morning. John had completely fallen asleep in the armchair with his laptop still resting on his knees. June was halfway through the third chapter. She twisted a strand of hair round and round in her fingers as she digested every word on the pages. The fire was still roaring in the fireplace, making the whole room feel homey and June definitely felt at home.

John let out a little snore at the same time as the front door opened and closed. June kept her eyes fixed on the pages of the book as she heard the footsteps carefully walk up the stairs. The steps were slow but it wasn't long before Sherlock was in the doorway looking at June sitting on the back of the armchair.

"I hear we have a new housemate." He said calmly slipping off his black leather gloves.

June looked up at Sherlock with her eyes. He was wearing his signature long coat and blue scarf. "I've been kicked out of my last place. Because of _you_ I've lost my job."

Sherlock stared at June for a while and for a second she thought she could see a flicker of guilt but knew that it was only a fragment of her imagination. However Sherlock didn't respond as he moved across the room, glancing at the sleeping John.

"If it's too much trouble I could just leave-"

"No," He cut across her. "I don't mind."

June half smiled as she dog-eared her page and closed the book. Sherlock glanced down at the book before looking at his own reflection in the mirror above the fireplace as June shifted her position on the seat.

"How do you know Steven White?" Sherlock asked as he took off his scarf and coat, not meeting June's eyes.

June knew this question would come up. "I met him down at the gym. He was watching me without me knowing and complemented me on my skill. I met him again at the gym and he asked me out for some coffee but I declined."

Sherlock looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "And what were you doing at the gym if you don't mind me asking."

June looked at Sherlock up and down before rubbing her nose. "Just archery."

Sherlock looked rather surprised and then frowned. "Any good?"

"Yeah," June breathed as she held onto the chair for support. "My father taught me when I was a little girl. It's the only thing I'm really good at."

"You don't look like someone who would do archery." Sherlock moved to the table, picked up a book and placed it on top of another pile of books.

June smirked. "Well according to Mrs Hudson, you're incapable of making a deduction over me."

Sherlock froze on the spot before slamming another book down. "I usually can't read someone if they're wearing a disguise and that never happens." He turned to face her.

June frowned. "What makes you think I'm wearing a disguise? I have nothing to hide from you."

"I didn't say that you were."

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other before June beckoned Sherlock over. Sherlock walked across the room and knelt into the chair and looked into her eyes.

"Try to read me now." She whispered. Sherlock's face was inches from hers and she could feel his eyes examining her face.

"Who are you?" Sherlock muttered deeply after a while.

June glanced down at his lips which were only inches away from her own. They were perfectly shaped with a defined cupid's bow.

"Just June Lawrence. A twenty-one year old, unemployed girl who has nothing to do but be dragged into the life of a consulting detective and an army doctor."

A smile formed on Sherlock's lips. "Oh I think you'll find that _we're_ the ones being dragged into _your_ life."

There was another silence as June glanced at his lips again. This time she leaned away from Sherlock and slid off the seat.

"What? Because you can't read me?" She laughed.

Sherlock stood up and adjusted his shirt as he cleared his throat. "What is June short for anyway?" He asked.

June wrinkled her nose. "It's not short for anything." She replied which was then followed by another silence. Sherlock retreated to the fireplace. "Steven White," She continued. "Claimed to be a HR manager of the gym I went to and then got away with being a HR manager at Scotland Yard and then employed Christopher Burke although he knew that he was fake."

"Five sporadic murders with no links and no reason. Our serial killer knows what he's doing and somehow I think Burke and White are in on this," Sherlock's face lit up with excitement of the outcome. "John, I think we've got it!" Sherlock cheered as he jumped onto back of John's armchair, jolting him awake. John looked rather confused as he looked around the room. "John, send Lestrade a text. Tell him we're getting somewhere with this case. _Finally_! I think I'll mention this in White's court meeting."

John groaned as he picked up his laptop and placed it on the floor by his feet. "Are you ever going to settle down and sleep, Sherlock?" He said his voice a little gruff.

Sherlock smiled like a young child seeing their socking on Christmas morning. "John why do we need sleep when we have a case on our hands?"

John looked at Sherlock in disbelief before shaking his head.

"June Lawrence, I want you with John and I at White's court meeting. You can be a witness."


	7. An early morning deduction

**An early morning deduction**

Sherlock was lying on his back in bed, deep in his own nightmare of thoughts: a trap into the pit of unsolved cases which had haunted him for months. The fuzziness of the reasoning to what was going on filled his dream-state mind. It was all unclear and he hated it. These recent murders gave him nightmares at night, nightmares where he would slowly loose himself into this dark pit and never see the light again. The fact that Sherlock couldn't find the reasoning to these murders and the serial killer worried him yet it never occurred to him to say it. He couldn't even find the words to confess to John how much it was worrying him.

Every so often Sherlock twitched in his sleep. His fists would clench under the blankets or his brow would furrow for a second. June could sense that Sherlock was dreaming and that something in his dream was niggling away at his mind as she hovered over him. Yet at the same time he looked so peaceful and that if you had been watching him for a short amount of time, he would look at rest and calm. It was very rare that anyone would see Sherlock looking so vulnerable and June suddenly felt a rush of protectiveness over him, realising how hard he worked at his job as a consulting detective and probably how weak he would be if he didn't have John there by his side to look after him.

June's auburn hair fell down over one shoulder, almost tickling Sherlock's cheek. She smiled to herself as Sherlock's face seemed to relax a little and the twitching subsided. With both hands resting on the duvet either side of Sherlock, June leaned in and softly kissed him on the lips. She remained there for a moment before Sherlock's eyes flickered open. Once she saw his open eyes, she quickly pulled away from him before he could push her off and smiled broadly at him.

"Morning!" She beamed before giggling and rolling off the bed. She strolled across the room and opened Sherlock's wardrobe.

"Morning…" Sherlock replied gruffly. June bit her lip in amusement at the sound of surprise and confusion in Sherlock's voice. He let out a groan as he covered his face with his hands. The morning sunlight was seeping through his window blinds and his eyes hurt from adjusting to the light.

"Lestrade and Mycroft have popped over for breakfast," June said as she pulled out clean shirt and trousers and placed them on the end of the bed. "They're in the sitting room now. I may have some kind of feeling they want to talk to you, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed at June's sarcasm as he removed his hands from his face. "Do you normally wake people up like that?" He mumbled, frowning up at the ceiling.

June sighed as she brought out a blazer. "Only occasionally."

Sherlock sat up in bed, his face screwed up in confusion. "But you kissed me!"

June, who was standing at the end of his bed, looked up at him with her eyes. "You kissed me back, Mr Holmes." They stared at each other for another long moment before one side of June's mouth curled up into a half-smile. "They're waiting for you."

A few minutes had passed before Sherlock was in his dressing gown and leaving his bedroom. Both Mycroft and Greg were sitting comfortably on the sofa, drinking tea which John had made them.

"I hear you want to talk to me." Sherlock grunted as he entered the living room. The two men on the sofa looked rather pleased with themselves as they were still laughing over something that was spoken of earlier on. Sherlock glanced at John who was sat at the table with a cup of tea and a newspaper open out in front of him. John just raised his eyebrows before sipping his tea.

"Sherlock!" Greg called. "Thought you'd never make it out of bed."

Sherlock didn't reply as he walked across the room and slouched down in one of the armchairs. June walked out of Sherlock's bedroom and Mycroft watched her suspiciously.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?"

Mycroft shifted on the sofa and placed the teacup back on its saucer. "Sherlock there's something you need to know about this serial killer."

"Go on." Sherlock encouraged him as he waved his hand.

"There's a small gang congregating near Greenwich, just on the edge of the river-"

"They prefer to be called a clique."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, his eyes narrowed. "What else do you know then?"

"No more than you do," Sherlock retorted, repeating the exact same words that Steven had said to him. "Apart from Christopher Burke and Steven White are part of this clique and they find themselves getting involved with the crime scenes. I assume that Mr White knows our killer and from that I can only assume that he is part of the group."

"We have eight other members of the _clique_." Mycroft said as he stood up and walked over to Sherlock and passed him a thick file. As he did so, he glanced at the file of Judith Harris he gave him, sitting on the coffee table. Sherlock opened the file and had a flick through all the paperwork about the ten gang members. John leaned forward and looked at the file over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Do you recognise any of them?" Mycroft asked as he leant on his umbrella.

Sherlock's brow creased as he examined each sheet of paper. "Pass me my phone, John."

John sighed and did so, reaching across the table and handing Sherlock his mobile. Sherlock pressed a few buttons on the screen and then took a photo of each of the gang member's headshot.

Greg stood up and walked over to stand next to Mycroft. "We have a search team looking out for them right now," He stated. "Any one of those members could be the serial killer but they all need to be taken under custody once found."

"Did you find out why Steven lied about his position?" John asked Sherlock.

"No," Sherlock breathed. "But I know he's not the killer. He's just a decoy to go in between the lines. Steven had to pretend to be working at the gym to talk to June. How many years was he working at Scotland Yard?"

"About four years." Greg replied.

That answer had clicked something in Sherlock's mind as he passed through all the different papers about each member, scanning the pages. He then drew out one page and placed it on top.

John leaned forward again and frowned. "Timothy Lawrence?" June's heat skipped a beat as John read the name out. "Twenty-four years of age. Said that he went missing for six years and started the gang nearly four years ago."

"Timothy Lawrence obviously met Steven where they worked together for a few months as it states here," Sherlock pointed at different parts of the sheet of paper. "Obviously round then Steven had to go under cover as HR manager at Scotland Yard. Why, I don't know, that's still a little unclear. It could be a way to help make these murders more complex. Steven must've done something to make it all the more difficult," Sherlock looked blankly out in front of him. "Lestrade," He called, pointing his finger to where Greg was standing. "Tell your boys down at the station to research into White's work. Look at the database and his online profile. While these murders occurred, did he do anything on the software?"

Greg nodded as he took out his mobile and walked into the kitchen and rung up the office.

"What about Steven working at the gym?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed. "He watched June as she shot some arrows on her own. Complimented on her skill and then offered to take her out for coffee." As Sherlock was speaking, June held onto her phone behind her back and sent a text to her brother.

**What the bloody hell are you doing?! **

June felt her hands trembling with rage as she tried to hold her emotions back.

"But why did he do that?" John wondered. At the same time, Sherlock looked at June with a knowing half-smile.

"Because Timothy Lawrence wanted to know what his younger sister was getting up to." Sherlock stood up and approached her. The look in his eyes showed that he was proud of himself that he finally found out who the killer was. "June Lawrence, I believe you are related to our beloved serial killer."


	8. The meet-up

**The meet-up**

"Where are you going?"

John stopped mid-step in the doorway. He glanced at his feet before turning to face Sherlock who was sitting in an armchair with his back to him. "I believe you have eyes at the back of your head." John assumed.

"If I did that would be a miracle, John. But I only have your shadow in my peripheral vision to judge," Sherlock paused as he interlaced his fingers with one another and rested them under his chin. "Where are you going?"

"On a date."

Sherlock frowned. "With whom?"

"No one that you know, Sherlock, and quite frankly I don't want you to meet her yet because with my past girlfriends, you've bloody scared them off!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't scare them off." He mumbled.

"Yeah you do, and it's not going to happen this time," John hovered in the doorway for a moment as he looked at Sherlock who hadn't moved in his seat. "I think it's best if you look after June. She hasn't spoken much since we found out about her brother last week." With that, he turned on his heels and left Baker Street.

John had met his recent girlfriend, Tracey, three months ago. She served him in the local Costa Coffee. John didn't have enough spare change to pay for his coffee so she let him off the hook. Since then, he had asked her when she was free and Tracey willingly took up any date John had offered her. This time, they were out to visit the Imperial War Museum just opposite Westminster, on the other side of the river.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes as he listened to John walking down the stairs of the apartment and closing the front door. He hadn't intended on doing anything that day other than hack onto John's laptop or play the violin. He was bored but didn't know what to do about it. He wanted John to come back.

Just at that moment, Sherlock eyes flicked open as he heard the opening of a window come from June's bedroom.

Since she found out about her brother, Timothy, June had spent most of her time shut in her bedroom and not really communicating with anyone. Timothy had texted her for the past week and they had arranged to meet up. Seeing as June hadn't seen him for the past four years of her life, she felt somewhat excited about seeing him again yet terrified from what he has done. She pulled on her leather jacket and picked up her bow and arrows which were tucked away at the bottom of her wardrobe. She didn't want to run the risk of being asked by Sherlock, John or even Mrs Hudson where she was heading to with her bow and arrow and thought it would be wise to leave unheard. She pulled open her bedroom window and sat on the window seal. She looked outside before swinging her legs over. She managed to reach down and plant her feet on a groove in the wall. June shook as she slowly turned round so that she was facing flat against the brick wall. She managed to edge sideways till she reached the edge of the wall before jumping off and landing on the top of the garden shed. She froze on the spot, gripping hold of the wall as she heard voices from inside Speedy's café wondering what the loud bang was. Once the silence had subsided and the chatter begun again, June slid off the shed roof and squeezed her way through the side to get back out onto Baker Street. She hailed the first taxi that came her way.

The taxi drove her through the busy streets of London, and June sat in silence as she watched the world fly by out the window. They eventually reached June's destination. She paid the taxi and clambered out. The taxi drove away and sped off in the distance.

Out in front of her was what looked like an old rundown skate park where the over grown grass had spurted up through the cracks in the pavement slabs. The old building on the other side of the park was too, old with broken windows and dirty brick walls. The building was of a square shape and had a flat roof. The windows were high up in the wall, just under the ceiling, and down below were three garage doors covered in graffiti.

June, with her hands dig deep in her jacket pockets, walked across the open park, being careful not to trip over any free, broken-off bits of pavement. Round the left side of the building, at the far end, was an iron door which was again covered in graffiti. The grass was completely over-grown and was nearly the same height as June as she trampled through to get to the door. Clutching onto the rusty door handle, she managed to yank it open after a little difficulty and stepped inside. The large building was dark and the only light came through the high windows. June took a couple steps forward and the door closed behind her with an echoing _BANG_. June jumped as it echoed around the room. She took another step forward as her eyes started to adjust to the dark. She could make out the outline of pillars that circled round the outside of the main square in the middle.

June jumped in a panic as she head _Tiptoe Through the Tulips _by Tiny Tim being played from the other side of the building. The singer's high pitched voice and the sound of the ukulele instantly gave June shivers. She remained on the spot as she silently took out an arrow and clipped it to her bow. She then carefully walked round the outside of the pillars slowly as the song continued. She knew that her brother was close by as she could almost smell him, but she couldn't tell if he was there or if it was just a trick. Once the song reached the end, June stopped walking.

"Brings back memories, eh?"

June spun round and aimed her bow in the direction where the voice came. Her heart leapt in her throat and she suddenly felt frightened.

"I used to want to be nick-named Tiny Tim as a child." He continued before emerging out of the shadows and stepping into the light shining through the window. "Although I guess it doesn't really count anymore." Timothy Lawrence smiled broadly at his younger sister. June noticed that he had grown a lot taller and looking at the way he was wearing a suit, it was clear that he looked after himself properly since she last heard from him. His hands were tucked in his trouser pockets and he wore black shiny shoes. His black hair which used to be spikey was now gelled back which emphasised his long face which had become thinner. It was obvious that he had put on weight and lost the lanky figure he had before. His body was broader, just like their father's and his dark grey eyes pierced right through her.

June relaxed a little but still kept her aim at her brother. Timothy's face dropped at this.

"There's no need for that, June," Timothy said calmly. "I'm not going to do anything explicit."

June slowly lowered her bow and looked down at her feet sheepishly. As she did so, Timothy smiled again.

"Hello, June." He purred.

She was almost shocked to see her brother and didn't know where to begin. Tears started to form in her eyes. "You always used to like that song." She croaked.

"And it's still my favourite to this day."

June looked at him again and shook her head. "If our parents ever knew what you are doing, Timothy-"

"Well they're never going to know because they're both dead."

Although June had known this for the past ten years of her life, the truth still hurt and shocked her every time it was spoken about.

"Why do you do it, Tim? Why?"

Timothy shrugged. "I just get a kick out of it."

June narrowed her eyes and turned to face him full-on rather than side-on. "You get a kick out of killing people? Tim, that's sick!"

"I was told that you're not fond of those who lie," Timothy remarked as he raised his eyebrows. "It takes one to know one."

"Just stop," June pleaded. "Why…" She cut off as she didn't know what she wanted to say. Timothy nodded her in encouragement to continue but June was still trembling from shock. "What happened to my brother I used to know?"

"What happened to my baby sister?"

June ignored him. "Why did you disappear for four years?"

Timothy sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before looking at his sister again.

June took a step forward. "We were going to travel together. We wanted to live in Australia and work out there for a few years. You saw us living in Melbourne, close to the sea. You _wanted_ to live that dream. And look at you now." June was now standing close to Timothy. It was the first time in a long while that June saw her brother close up. He had crease marks around his mouth and huge dark circles under his eyes. Her brother lacked in sleep and June felt rather sympathetic towards him.

"And we can still do that," Timothy said as he touched her arm, which made her flinch a little. "We'll move over to Australia together if you want. Just like we said as kids," He ran his tongue along his bottom teeth. "If you'd let me do one thing first."

June shook her head. "Please, no more." She whispered, slowly shaking her head.

Timothy looked down at her. "Let me kill Sherlock Holmes." His voice was dark and sinister.

June frowned. "No."

"No?" Timothy raised his eyebrows in surprise.

June yanked her arm free and took a few steps away. "Stay away from Sherlock." She growled.

Timothy let out a roar of laughter which echoed through the building. The sound of birds taking wing form the ceiling was heard as his laughter continued to echo. June suddenly felt the presence of Timothy's clique in the room with them and her grip tightened on her bow. She was ready to aim and release her arrow if anyone came close to her.

"Why do you want to kill Sherlock?" June's voice faulted with fear.

"Why not? I got pleasure from murdering five random people for the sheer hell of it but having the ability to kill Mr Holmes as my sixth victim would be the icing on the cake," He clasped his hands together and rubbed them with excitement. "Then we shall go to Melbourne."

June took another step back, shaking her head furiously. "I won't go through with this!" She shouted. "I won't let you kill him."

"Fine then," He hissed. "Act like his bodyguard, June. I'll make my own way round."

With that, June found herself running away from her brother. The building was so large; June lost her way round and only hoped that she was heading towards the door. But just as she started to find it easier to see in the dark, the lights all turned on, blinding her. June shielded her eyes from the bright lights but in the distance, she could hear someone fighting. Stumbling forward, June squinted her eyes to see what was happening and once her eyes had adjusted to the light, she saw a tall figure fighting the clique.

Sherlock Holmes was in the building.

June quickly spun round to look for her brother but he was nowhere in sight. As June turned back to Sherlock, she started sprinting towards him.

"SHERLOCK!" She screeched. Sherlock spun round and noticed her just as she aimed and released her arrow which hit the clique member near Sherlock, in the shoulder. She pulled out another arrow and shot it at another member standing up on a balcony by the windows, who was pointing a gun down at Sherlock. The arrow also caught him right in the shoulder. He screamed in agony as he stumbled over the rail and fell, landing harshly on the concrete ground.

There was a long pause of silence as Sherlock watched June, frowning in confusion as she stormed up to him.

"Yes I snuck out of the apartment to meet up with my criminal brother behind your back. Punish me if you have to, Sherlock." June snapped. Once she reached him, Sherlock continued to watch her with his mouth slightly agape.

"You didn't sneak behind my back," He said. "I heard you leave out your bedroom window so I thought I'd make my own way here seeing as this is their hideout."

June sighed. "Did you hear what my brother said?" She asked, worried about Sherlock being his next victim.

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. "No. I haven't been here long."

Right on cue, there were sounds of people running and shouting outside. Instantly thinking it was more members of the clique, June and Sherlock stood back to back: June having an arrow ready in her bow and Sherlock holding his gun ready.

"Where's John when you need him?" June whined as the voices became louder.

"I called him a dozen times already. He's too busy on his date." Sherlock hissed.

"Nope. I'm right here."

Sherlock spun round and saw John walking out of the shadow into the centre of the building.

"Tracey wasn't impressed on the fact that I had to finish our date early." John continued.

Sherlock frowned at John as if completely outraged. "We've just found our serial killer and you're complaining about your _date_?"

John sighed. "Well if I didn't _care_ about you being in the hands of our killer then I wouldn't have come back to you, Sherlock."

The door burst open and hundreds of police officers came running in, wearing their public order helmets and carrying their shields and batons. They all circled round them as Sherlock pulled John and June close behind him.

"Guess we've got ourselves a riot going on here." June muttered to John who glanced at her before nodding. He then turned to the two bodies lying on the floor with an arrow each stuck in their shoulder: one was squirming in the floor and the other lying completely still.

Silence filled the building and after a while, they could each someone struggling to squeeze past the hundreds of police officers. Then out stepped Anderson, followed by Sergeant Donavon.

"You've got to be joking!" Sherlock groaned at the sight of Anderson.

"Clearly not," He retorted. "We were told about a murderous gang hiding out in the depth of Greenwich near the river. One of the members includes Timothy Lawrence, our recent serial killer. And here we find our favourite psychopath and his disciples!"

It wasn't long until Sherlock, John and June were handcuffed and taken down to the station.

"This is ridiculous," John muttered as the three of them sat in the back of the police car. "We're now under suspect of being part of that gang!"

"Surely Lestrade would come to his senses," June started. "He's probably the only inspector around who actually listens to the two of you. Surely he's not going to believe that we're in this."

Once they arrived at the station they were taken into a cell where they were harshly pushed up against a wall and searched over. Sherlock's gun was taken away as evidence and – to her dismay – so was June's bow and arrows. The officer glared at June in the eye before coldly snapping her arrows in half. June sighed and rested the side of her face against the wall, away from Sherlock who was watching her, feeling helpless.

Photos were taken of them and officers sat at desks and filled in the paperwork. It was another hour before Sherlock, John and June was sat on iron chairs in a cell, their hands handcuffed to the back of the chairs. Anderson was stood opposite them, his arms folded across his chest tightly as he watched them, shaking his head slowly. The look on his face clearly stated that he was proud that he finally got what he wanted: Sherlock caught red-handed in the action. Stood beside the cell door was a police guard who held a baton firmly in both hands.

The cell was silent but the silence broke when the door creaked open and Greg stepped in. He was frowning as his eyes scanned over the three suspects sitting in the chairs. John looked rather worried, June continued to glare at him and Sherlock looked rather bored and fed up. His eyes wondered over to the ticking clock hanging above the door. Greg let out a loud sigh of despair as the guard closed the door behind him. He stood in front of them with his hands in his trouser pockets.

There was a long pause and all that was heard was the sound of the ticking clock which Sherlock was still watching.

"I don't believe this." Lestrade finally said as he shook his head. Sherlock rolled his eyes and finally met Greg's stare. June glanced at Sherlock and then at Greg, realising that it looked like they were mentally arguing.

"I certainly do," Anderson amused as he took a couple of steps forward, the look of pleasure on his face. "I've finally caught Mr Holmes red-handed in the act. You see, Inspector Lestrade, he may be your _pal_ but he's part of this act. He pretended he couldn't find any links between these murders so he could cover up Timothy Lawrence," Anderson chuckled. "You know, I don't think I could be happier that our psychopath-"

"SHUT UP, ANDERSON!" Shouted Sherlock, John and June in unison. They all shot daggers at Anderson who looked rather taken aback at their sudden outburst. Silence continued for a little longer as Anderson felt lost for words.

"Okay," Greg started, breaking the silence. "Would you mind going outside?" He asked Anderson. "I would like to have a word with this lot in private," He then turned to the guard. "You too, please."

Anderson grunted as he turned and left the cell, followed by the guard. Once the cell door was closed, Greg pulled out a key from his blazer pocket and moved over to John to undo his handcuffs.

"For a moment there I thought you'd actually believed them." John said as he watched Greg fiddle with the cuffs.

Greg half-smiled. "I'd never doubt you guys for a second," He looked at Sherlock. "You'd better thank your brother. He's just saved your arse."

Sherlock sighed and relaxed a little in the chair. John rubbed at the red mark on his free wrists.

"Why did you go to the serial killer without letting us know?" Greg asked. "If you had done so you wouldn't be in this mess."

"I don't like to cause a storm." Sherlock exclaimed.

"You've already done that."

June frowned and turned her head to look at Greg who was undoing Sherlock's handcuffs. "Is it really too much to ask for me to go and see my own brother?" She snapped.

Greg raised his eyebrows as he moved onto June. "He's a serial killer."

"He's my _brother_!"

Sherlock stood up and adjusted his scarf.

Once they were free, Greg escorted them out the station through the back door where they wouldn't be seen by anyone else. They left in silence and Sherlock hailed a taxi to take them back to Baker Street. Greg stood by the road and watched them as they clambered into the back of the taxi which then drove off. June remained silent as Sherlock started to discuss his recent deductions with John.

Her brother's voice was ringing in her ears: "_Let me kill Sherlock Holmes_."


	9. Falling Into Place

**Falling into place**

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson whined as she trotted across the kitchen into the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. "We've let this lovely lady stay with us and you get her clean all your dirty dishes for you! Go give her a hand, Sherlock."

Sherlock, who was sat in the arm chair with a newspaper opened out in front of him, raised his shoulders as he breathed in deeply. "She started to wash everything up without my concern," He started, not taking his eyes off the paper. "She's taken to cleaning the apartment on her own accord and I'd rather just leave her to it."

Mrs Hudson let out a loud sigh, looking rather deflated before turning and walking down the stairs, passing John who was walking upstairs, carrying plastic bags full of food from Tesco's. It was Christmas Eve and John had bought last-minute food for their Christmas meal the following day.

The day went by quickly, like most days did since June saw her brother. They heard nothing from the police about Timothy or his clique, nor has there been any murders in the past week.

It was getting close to the evening and Sherlock, John and June took a trip down to St. Bartholomew's hospital to pay Molly Hooper a visit, who still held all of Timothy's victims as evidence. The hospital corridors were quiet and they only passed a few people along the way to Molly's lab. Some of the doctors nodded to both Sherlock and John when walking passed. They found Molly sitting beside one of the computers, tapping away at the keyboard. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail which fell over her left shoulder. She was wearing a long white lab coat. She jumped as soon as she heard Sherlock walk across the lab to look at Timothy's victims which were all lying on top of different metal tables. White linen sheets covered them.

"Sherlock," Molly said, breathing heavily. "I didn't hear you come in."

Sherlock looked at Molly, a broad smile stretching across his face. "Don't mind us," He said, gesturing to John and June. "We're just on a mission. Nothing more."

Molly glanced at June who walked across the lab to a table at the other end. She uneasily slid off her stool and scuttled over to June who started to lift the sheet. She took the sheet out of June's hands and pulled it back carefully, revealing the cold, stone dead body of the second victim. The forty year old man who was murdered out in the streets of London, near the embankment, in broad daylight. A shiver ran down June's spine at the thought of her brother murdering this man for pleasure.

"Sorry," Molly began, her voice quiet like a nervous mouse. "I don't think I caught your name." She glanced at Sherlock and John who were peering over Timothy's last murder on the other side of the lab.

June sighed as she fixed her eyes on the dead body. "That's because I didn't throw it." She muttered casually before moving towards the man's head. She reached down to touch his skin but let her hand hover as she looked up at Molly. "May I?" She asked.

Molly placed the sheet down and then ripped out a pair of rubber gloves from a box on the side and handed them to June. She took the gloves and slid them onto her hands. Molly picked up the sheet again as June started to examine the man's face. She looked at the wrinkled skin at the back of his neck. As Molly watched her, she noticed that she had picked up techniques from Sherlock. She had been living with him and John all month and as the days passed, they spent their time working out who their serial killer was and why he was killing these people. Now they knew who their killer was, it was just a case of finding out more about Steven White, Christopher Burke and catching the rest of the gang before they went out to kill another person. Sherlock wanted to research more into Timothy's victims and how they were killed to perhaps get some idea as to what they plan to do.

"I hear you're living down at Baker Street nowadays." Molly said, trying to bring up a light hearted conversation. June paused a moment before feeding her fingers through the man's hair which was falling out.

Molly continued. "It's not often Sherlock allows anyone else to live in the same apartment with him. I know he's happy living with John but-"

"You don't happen to have any tweezers, do you?" June asked, standing up straighter. Molly hesitated for a moment before nodding and walking back to her desk. June let out a loud sigh, not wanting to answer any of Molly's questions.

"You remember Timothy's first victim?" Sherlock asked John as he too was running his fingers through the dead body's hair. "Do you remember what I said about her?"

John frowned and cleared his throat. "That was about five months ago, Sherlock." He replied.

"You've been working with me long enough, John; you should be used to remembering."

John groaned and rolled his eyes. "I don't remember!" He snapped. "That was still when we couldn't understand what was going on or why she was killed."

"Her hair," said Sherlock. "Do you remember me saying that her hair was fake?"

John's brow pulled together. "Come to think of it I remember that."

"It's nylon." June said who was now standing behind John. They both turned to look at her.

"That's exactly what I discovered." Sherlock muttered.

"The second victim's hair is nylon. A wig of nylon hair which has been carefully glued to his skull to make it look like his own hair. I only suspect my brother has done this to all his victims."

Sherlock smiled gleefully as he approached June. "June Lawrence," He beamed. "How did you discover it?"

June shrugged. "I just remember the texture of the hair from my dolls when I was little. My brother's actions dolls had the same sort of hair. It was his favourite thing."

Sherlock let out a throaty laugh. John frowned at him. "June I could almost ki-" Sherlock stopped in his tracks, stopping his excitement from taking control. Instead, he took hold of June's arms with both his hands, leaned in before kissing her on her forehead. He then swept across the lab, weaving in and out of the tables, his coat waving behind him. He took it off before reaching Molly who was watching him.

"Molly I'm going to need your help," He then stood face-to-face to her. "We're going to have to take the hair off these bodies."

Molly looked a little confused. "Their hair?"

"It's not their real hair. Only nylon."

Molly nodded before walking to her desk again and taking out her utensils.

"It's almost as if everything's starting to fall into place!" Sherlock beamed.

An hour had passed and Sherlock was working away at the bodies with Molly's help. John and June were sat at another desk, reading through files about each individual.

"John," Sherlock called. "Get Lestrade. We need to talk to him."

John sighed as he took out his phone but he had no signal. "There's no signal," He called back, swinging his legs round to step off the stool. "I'll go down and get him myself." Sherlock didn't answer and John knew that he probably didn't listen. He looked at June who looked rather bored and fed up, just how John felt. "Coming?" He asked. June nodded and jumped off her seat. They walked out the double doors and back through the corridors to the exit.

Molly watched them go and once the sound of their footsteps disappeared in the distance, she shuffled on the spot. "Who is she? That girl?" Molly asked, trying to be confident but regretting it the moment she asked.

Sherlock didn't respond for a moment and cut through before Molly could say anything else. "Why do you ask?" His voice was soft rather than his usual condescending tone.

Molly shrugged. "She just reminds me of someone. Just the way she looks," Molly sighed as she leaned against the metal table. "Do you remember that case about Judith Harris all those years ago? She…I don't know, she just reminds me of her. I think it's her eyes."

Sherlock frowned a little. "It's not nice to compare someone to an eleven year old dead murder." His voice was still soft.

Molly watched him for a moment. "Well," She started. "You're not really one to talk about being nice. Are you, Sherlock?" There was a long pause of silence and Molly opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to think of the right words to say. "Is she your girlfriend?" The words stumbled out of her mouth in a rush. Molly continued to watch him as he froze. "I know people talk about you and John being an item but is that girl _your_ girlfriend?"

"Molly," Sherlock said, breathing out as he turned to look at her. "Being in love or having a love affair is not my area. You know that."

"But it's unlike you to be willing to let her live with you."

"It was John's offer. I agreed because we need her help with this case. Her _brother_ is our serial killer."

Molly sighed. She looked at the double doors that John and June exited through. "But it's obvious that she's someone special to you, Sherlock," Her voice was almost a whisper. "Just by the way you look at her, it's clear how much you care for her. No matter what you say, Sherlock, you need people like her and John to keep you sane. You should never be left alone for too long."

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and looked up at Molly with sympathy in his eyes. Molly looked at her shoes timidly and walked back to her desk.

* * *

As soon as they were out on the street, John's name was called. John spun round on his heel to see a tall, brunette woman standing on the edge of the pavement beside the door to a black limousine. She wore a long grey coat which ended at her knees and high, platform heels on her feet. Her spindly, manicures fingers were clutching her mobile phone. She raised an eyebrow.

"And June Lawrence." She nodded to June.

John sighed. "Mycroft?" He asked knowing that this was Mycroft's usual way of wanting to speak to him in private.

The woman smiled. "You'd both better come with me." She opened the car door and John slid inside, followed by June. The limousine drove them through the wet streets of London as the rain started to fall. The screen in the middle of the car was shut so John nor June were able to see who were sat in the driver's or the passenger's seat. June shifted in the black, leather seat.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" She asked, looking at John.

"Of course he will," He sighed. "He's with Molly."

June nodded as she pursed her lips feeling rather uncertain. "I do worry about him," She hesitated for a moment. "When he's alone."

John looked at June, his brows pulled together in confusion.

June shrugged and looked out the window, resting her elbow on the door and biting at her fingernails. "I worry about Sherlock when he's alone without you, John. You're always there for him to keep him _sane_. He has a lot of faith in you and I think it would hurt him badly if that ever broke. He needs you. You never see the look on his face when you're not around."

John watched June for a moment before turning to look out the window, not replying.

The limousine parked at the end of the skate park outside the run down building where Timothy's gang congregated. John and June exchanged glances, wondering why Mycroft was meeting them there, before undoing their seatbelts and climbing out the car. They stood side-by-side as they followed the woman who took them closer to the building. With the press of a button on a key ring she was holding, one of the garage doors opened, allowing the outside light seep inside. She stood to the side and gestured John and June to enter.

John gave June's hand a squeeze and pulled her along with him. Knowing that there were meeting there, he knew that something must be wrong. The garage door wasn't open fully so they had to bend down to get through. June gripped hold of John's hand as if it was a barrier between her life and death. Fear started to rise up inside her. She's didn't like being in the building.

Once they were inside, the door closed. Lucky for them, the building wasn't as dark as it was last time they were there and they could see the outline of the pillars a lot clearer. There was a blue tint to the air around them.

June wished that she had her bow and arrow with her but her arrows were snapped in half and the police still kept hold of her bow, as well as Sherlock's gun. She didn't even have any money to buy herself a new set but she knew that even if she did, nothing would compare to the beautiful, hand carved, wooden set her father got her.

John and June crept around the building, weaving in and out of the pillars, in hope to find Mycroft. But he was nowhere in sight. John breathed out a sigh of frustration.

"Alright, Doctor Watson, just calm down," A woman's voice was heard from the centre of the building. "You'll burn down the whole building with your fiery breath in a minute if you continue to do that."

They stopped walking in mid step. John let go of June's hand as he turned to face the slim woman standing in the centre.

John nodded as he announced, "Irene Adler."

Irene smiled. "Hello, John."

"You did it again. You made me think that Mycroft wanted to see us." John started to walk towards her and June followed, looking at Irene uncertainly.

"Well in fact he does want to see you. He thought that it would be nice for me to talk to you first seeing as it's been so long since the last time we met."

John stopped walking and put his hands in his trouser pockets, cocking his head to one side. "Why are you back?"

"Why do you think?"

John shook his head. "Don't play games with me, Irene. I had enough of not knowing what's going on. It's only starting to make sense."

Irene looked at John before folding her arms. "What? Because you've noticed that all the victims have nylon hair to make it look like it's their own?" Irene looked at June who had started to pace up and down. She stopped pacing as soon as she caught Irene's eye. "Your brother is a psychopath," She turned back to John and June walked on again. "But that's not going to get you anywhere. How's Sherlock?"

"He's fine." John replied, pursing his lips.

"No he's not."

John sighed. "He's just stressed. We've never had a case like this that's dragged on for nearly six months now."

"And it's going to take longer. But here you have June by your side who's the centre of this _whole_ case," Her voice was almost as if she was mocking June. "She has a crazy brother who's out to kill everyone out of fun. She keeps her head down, forgetting her past and going undercover under the name of June Lawrence. She's now fallen hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes but is too afraid to admit it. Even to herself. Her biggest fear is you and Sherlock finding out who she really is as Sherlock believes her to be dead…but oops, I seem to have let it out the bag." Irene said it as quickly as Sherlock says his deductions.

Silence filled the building. June held onto one of the pillars for support. Her breathing became very heavy and her knees wobbled.

John frowned and shook his head. "Sorry," He started. "A bit lost here," He pointed to June. "You're saying that this isn't June Lawrence."

"And that she's in love with Sherlock."

John let out a nervous laugh which echoed across the building. "Could you explain?"

Irene groaned as she rolled her eyes. "June Lawrence isn't real. That's her cover name," She took another step closer towards John. "Ten years ago, at the age of eleven, she killed her mother. Her brother ran away the day before and shortly after, she ran away and hid. The police are still looking for her but Sherlock thinks she's dead. June is the month of her birthday and Lawrence was her mother's maiden name. She is Judith Harris."

John froze on the spot before turning his head to look at June who had tears filling in her eyes. Irene looked at one from the other, registering the fear in June's face and the look of shock and disappointment on John's.

"Tell him who you are." Said John, his voice calm and controlled.

June shook her head no. "I can't." She croaked.

"Tell him who you are or I'll take you to the police and tell him myself." John's voice became harsher.

June shook her head again as tears fell down her cheek.

John sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Why did you lie?"

"Do you think you would have offered to let her live with you in Baker Street if you knew who she was?" Irene asked before smirking. "Hence why Sherlock could never make a deduction over her. She's in disguise," Irene waited for a response from John but she never got one. "I guess I'll leave you both to it then," She said, walking backwards into the dark. "Send Sherlock my love, if he'll bother to reply." Then she was gone.

"John, I'm sorry." June's voice wavered.

"NO YOU ARE NOT!" John shouted as he stormed up to her.

"What do you expect me to do? Turn myself to the police?"

John raised his eyebrows. "People who are in love don't do this and I will _not_ let you hurt, Sherlock!" He scowled. "Why did you lie?"

June covered her face with her hands as she sobbed. Her shoulders shook and she was close to falling down onto her knees. John walked away from her and took out his phone.

"Sorry, June," His voice also started to waver with shock. "I'm going to have to call Lestrade about this."

"Please no!" June begged as she tugged John's arm. "Just let me explain."

"Explain what, June?" John barked. "That you've lied to us and make us believe that you are this innocent woman who happens to be related to our serial killer…" John paused a moment as he stared into June's glassy eyes. He cleared his throat. "Actually come to think of it, it all makes sense a little bit more," His scowled again.

June nodded. "So you discover all this about me but you still have the heart to call me June."

John turned away as he dialled Lestrade's number. June took another step closer to him.

"Would you just let me explain!"

"EXPLAIN WHAT? That you're just a runaway murder? And a _coward_, I'll give you that!"

"It was an accident!" June shouted back. "I was a kid and scared. My mother was in depression."

John just nodded, not replying to her as he held his phone to his ear. June felt helpless. She could hear the ringing from John's phone and swallowed what felt like a hard pebble that was caught in her throat. She gripped hold of her hair in frustration, biting onto her lip as she watched John walk away from her.

"You watched my father die!" June screamed across the building. She quickly took a step back and covered her mouth as she cried. John slowly turned back to look at her, his mouth slightly agape. He still held his phone to his ear.

June carried on. "In Afghanistan, ten years ago. My father was gunned down out there and you were unable to save his life because his wounds were too severe. Arthur Harris. You saw him _die_, John," June's body shook with fright as she could hear Greg's voice on the other end of the line, yet John didn't respond to him. "We got a call from the army informing us about his death. My mother fell into depression that day and Timothy ran away. It was the following day it happened. My mother threatened to kill me after I asked her if dad would be coming home. I was scared so I pushed her. She fell and cracked her head open on the counter. What was a eleven year old supposed to do then?" June's voice became louder but then quietened down again as John lowered his hand and hung up the call. "So I ran away and my mother died of loss of blood. I was the suspect," June tried to control her tears as John carefully approached her but she backed away from him. "I don't know what's right anymore." She flung her arms helplessly to her sides. "Or even what's worse: regretting your past so much you changed your life around just to start over, or loving someone so much, you're terrified to hurt them or even let them know that you _psychopath _brother wants to murder them!" June took in a deep breath. "Is it too much to ask just to start over again?"

John lightly touched June's arm and she flinched. "How long have you known this?"

June refused to meet his eye. "Since we last saw him."

John sighed. "I don't care about you being Judith Harris. You didn't mean to kill your mother. How could any eleven year old do that purposely? You're June Lawrence to me. And to Sherlock." He then paused for a long time, watching the tears slide down June's face. Slowly, and a little awkwardly, John pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly as she shook and sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm sorry," He whispered. "I'm so sorry."

They stayed there for a little while until John saw a figure in the shadows. Only then did he realise who it was.

"No, Mycroft, _no_!" John snapped as he pulled away from June.

Mycroft stepped into the light with an umbrella in one hand and a smug look on his face. June looked down at her feet, feeling ashamed.

"Don't you dare say anything about this to your brother?"

Mycroft let out a little laugh. "Tell Sherlock this? Of course not! I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. It's very rare that _I_ know more about something that's close to my brother than he does," He glanced at June who was still looking at her shoes. "I told him to look more into the Judith Harris case but him being his usual self stuck to his idea of her being dead. But here she is, living in the same apartment as him," He looked at John. "I can mention something to the police about letting the case go. Just to keep our June Lawrence safe."

"Wouldn't that make the police suspicious?"

"Of course it would, it's their _job_!" Mycroft snapped. "But they'll believe me," He then looked back at June and lifted her chin. "Don't fall in love with Sherlock. He's not worth fighting for. You'd be better off saving him from your brother and then walking away."

John looked back and forth at Mycroft and June.

Mycroft let go of June's face and leant against his umbrella. "New year's eve," He started. "There's a public ball. I want you both and Sherlock to be there. Irene will be there too and so will I. I'll get Inspector Lestrade to arrive too. Inform my brother, will you, John? We have a lot to do in preparation," He let out a sigh as he stood up straight. "Think it's about time we get to the bottom of this and stop Timothy _Harris_," He then nodded to June. "He also liked the idea of going undercover with his mother's maiden name. I'd pretend that's still his name if you want to save yourself and Sherlock." Mycroft then smiled before turning and walking into the dark.

"Question," John called after him which made him stop walking. "Why did you want to meet us here? Isn't this Timothy and his clique's hideout?"

Mycroft smiled. "We've caught two of our clique members. Since they know that we know where they hide, I guess they've found a new place," He started walking again. "Have a good Christmas!" And then he was gone.


	10. It's a dance, Sherlock'

**A/N: For this chapter, the setting of the ball scene is a real building: The Rivoli Ballroom Club in London. There are photos of it up on Google if you which to see what the main ballroom hall looks like.**

**And this is the music they danced to: watch?v=SPYa60mRik8**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter! ^-^**

* * *

**"It's a dance, Sherlock."**

It's been four days since Steven White's court meeting and Sherlock hasn't felt more stressed. Although he never said it. Another court meeting was booked in January as they never got to the bottom of White's sentence. So far he was neither guilty nor innocent seeing as the whole court was split in half with what they believed. Despite Sherlock's and June's argument about how much of a fraud he is, and the clique he's part of, none of the jury's seemed to believe them. When John stood up to get his word across, he was ordered to sit down, hold his tongue and only speak when asked which in that case, he wasn't. Shortly after, the case was closed for the time being as the judge was fed up and demanded to return to it in the New Year.

Sherlock didn't sleep nearly every night as he was up trying to pick out what was wrong. The whole Timothy Lawrence case was dragging on for far too long. All Sherlock had to do was find him again with the police and arrest him before he kills anyone else. But as the days went by, everything seemed to be easier said than done. Timothy could be anywhere for all he knew.

The night of the court meeting, June couldn't sleep out of frustration and climbed out of bed to pour herself a glass of water. On the way to the kitchen, she found Sherlock sitting in a wooden chair at the table in the sitting room, wearing a purple shirt and black trousers. He was slumped forward, arms resting on the table and his chin resting on his arms. His eyes were wide open as he stared across the table at the wall opposite. It was a bitterly cold winter's night and June found herself shivering as she left her warm bed. She couldn't imagine how cold Sherlock must've felt as he stayed up all night long. With a sigh, June turned and walked back into her bedroom. She came back carrying a cream coloured cotton throw, which she had sitting at the end of her bed to keep her feet warm. Unfolding the throw, she placed it round Sherlock's shoulders, covering his neck and tucking the ends in the gap between his back and the back of the chair. Squeezing both his shoulders, she leaned down and kissed him on the temple and to her surprise Sherlock placed his stone cold hand on top of hers. Other than that, he was completely unresponsive.

The next four days passed by very slowly and soon it was New Year's Eve. Just like both Steven and Mycroft offered, Sherlock, John and June were attending the public ball that night. John had gone to visit his girlfriend, Tracey, whom he was attending the ball with. Sherlock agreed to go with June and suggested that they would keep a low profile. To Sherlock, it was a good opportunity to find Timothy. They had made a plan with Mycroft and Lestrade in hope for peace at the end of the night. Lestrade had informed everyone at Scotland Yard of the plan and the police would be there to back them up if needed.

June was in Mrs Hudson's room getting ready. June had spent her last few pennies from her old job to buy herself a new corset dress to wear at the ball. While she sat at the dressing table in Mrs Hudson's bedroom, looking into the oval-shaped mirror as she applied her make-up, Mrs Hudson stood by her side talking excitedly about her past memories as a young teenager when she would go out.

"It's strange," She said. "Sherlock has never been fond of any sort of public events. Nor is he one to go to something like this and properly dress up for," She sighed and looked at June. "He must really like you if he's taking you out to this ball."

June frowned and looked at Mrs Hudson, but before she could say anything in protest, Mrs Hudson clasped her hands together and smiled broadly.

"It's so romantic!" She exclaimed before walking across the bedroom.

June smiled to herself as she turned and continued to apply the rest of her make-up. Mrs Hudson sat on the end of her bed and watched June as she applied some red lipstick to her lips.

"I've known Sherlock for a fair few years now and even that first week he rented this apartment is still quite fuzzy in my memory. All I can remember is having a regular visit from the police and I found myself making everyone tea that first week. I don't think neither John nor Sherlock remember that I'm not their housekeeper."

June stood up. "Do I look okay?" She asked.

Mrs Hudson smiled briefly as she pushed herself off her bed, licked the tip of her thumb and gingerly rubbed under June's eye, removing any small smudges. She then took a step back. "Beautiful." She replied.

They walked out the room to joined Sherlock who was waiting by the front door. Leaning against the wall with her hands clasped in front of him, Sherlock was wearing a black suit, white shirt and a black tie. He froze the moment he saw June and half smiled at her. He then opened the door and let her out first.

"Have a lovely time!" Mrs Hudson called and then the front door closed.

Sherlock opened the door of the taxi that was waiting for them and again, allowed June to get in first. The taxi took them through the busy streets of London. The ball was held in the main ballroom at the Rivoli, in Brockley Road on the other side of the River Themes. From the outside, the place looked rather small and June wondered how many would be attending the ball.

Once the taxi reached the top of the road, they had to wait in line with all the other cars, taxi's and limousine's that stopped at the entrance as people climbed out. By the front door were photographers and journalists that questioned the people who arrived. Many ignored them, posed for photos and walked through the double doors. June suddenly felt very nervous at the look of the huge crowd of people standing outside the doors.

"I wonder if John is already there." June said, trying to cover the shakiness in her voice. Sherlock didn't respond but continued to stare out the window. It wasn't until they were three cars away from the front door that Sherlock spoke.

"When we get out," He began. "I want you to hold onto my arm and not to let go. Even when we get inside."

June nodded. "And what about the journalists outside?" She pondered.

"Just ignore them," He replied and then smiled. "Or just tell them to piss off if needs be." Both Sherlock and June sniggered at this.

When it was down to the last car, Sherlock turned his head to look at June. It was a few seconds before June turned and looked back at Sherlock.

"You ready?" He asked.

June pursed her lips before nodding.

The taxi pulled forward and it was their turn to get out. One of the door men, dressed smartly in a black, red and gold jacket reached for the door handle and opened the car door. There was a moment of silence as the journalists and photographers craned their necks to have a look at who turned up. Once Sherlock stepped out, there was a rush of excitement, followed by different voices calling out to him and a series of white flashes from the cameras.

June felt like she was blinded by the flashing lights but managed to take the doorman's white gloved hand and step out the taxi. Sherlock was stood by her side and as they walked up the red carpet to the front double doors, Sherlock slipped his hand into June's and squeezed, before she could grab hold of his arm.

June stared at the large red sign across the front of the building saying "RIVOLI BALLROOM CLUB' before glancing at the clock hanging above the doors. It was getting close to eight that evening and the cold winter air bit at their skin.

Sherlock ignored all the voices from the people surrounding them calling out to him, asking him what he thought about the serial killer, who his girl was, had he caught the serial killer and where was John. Quickly enough, they reached the front door and another doorman smiled gleefully as he took hold of the gold handle and pulled the door open with ease. Sherlock nodded to the man before they stepped inside.

The first room was the foyer which was empty. On the walls hung signs pointing to where the ballroom, bar and toilets were. With narrowed eyes, Sherlock scanned the room and sniffed a few times. His hand was still holding onto June's, their fingers intertwined and June could feel her palms becoming quite sweaty. They had to pass through another set of double doors and a hallway before they reached the ballroom. The music was heard in the foyer. The hallway they entered wasn't long. The carpet was a deep red colour. The top half of the walls were a pale yellow colour and the bottom half was oak panelled. They both walked down and glanced through the arch windows into the large, busy ballroom which was filled with hundreds of people.

"Sherlock!"

They both stopped walking and saw Mycroft standing in a grey suit, beside the main entrance.

Sherlock sighed and walked towards him.

"I almost feel proud that you even turned up," He said before turning to June. "And the _lovely_ June Lawrence." He gave her a knowing, accusing look as he gingerly took her free hand and pressed his lips to it.

"Have you seen him?" Sherlock demanded as he let go of June to stand by one of the arch windows, looking into the ballroom.

"Who?"

"Steven White."

Mycroft sighed. "Not yet. He doesn't seem to be on the dance floor. I'm guessing he hasn't arrived yet. Neither has Timothy _Lawrence_."

June tried to supress a shudder every time Mycroft glanced at her knowingly. A waiter opened the glass arch door, holding a round silver tray with a dozen glasses sitting on top.

"Champagne?" He asked his voice loud and clear.

Both Mycroft and Sherlock paused a moment as they stared at each other.

"Don't mind if I do." June answered and she stepped in between them to pick up a glass off the tray. She watched Sherlock as she took a sip of the drink.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and let out a loud sigh as he pattered down the front of his blazer. "Well I guess I should get started then," He said. "John is already in there. He's sitting down somewhere." With that he turned and followed the waiter into the ballroom. The door closed behind him. Sherlock turned to peep through the window and spotted John sitting by a round table with two women – one was Tracey and the other had her back to him – and Lestrade who was dressed in a black suit and bow tie.

"Are you ready?" June asked as she stood by Sherlock's side, resting the glass to her lips and looking through the window.

"I'm just wondering if your brother would turn up. We can't exactly do anything until he does."

June looked at him. "We can get ready. Make sure our plan is all prepared out and that nothing will falter."

Sherlock sighed. "I told you this idea is going to be dangerous. I'd prefer you to be back at the apartment."

June laughed. "Yeah and you won't be getting rid of me Sherlock," She stated. "I'm not going to lose you."

"You won't lose me, June. I've got nothing to run from. Just need to run _to_ our serial killer."

Timothy's voice continued to echo through June's mind, reminding her that he wanted to kill Sherlock. She took in a deep breath as she took another gulp of champagne. Sherlock, who kept his eyes on the back of the woman's head, moved behind June and muttered something along the lines of them going inside to sit with John but because his voice was so low, she didn't quite hear what he said. Instead she drained the last of her drink and followed him inside the ballroom.

There was a real buzz of excitement in the ballroom as hundreds of people were on the dance floor, dancing with their partners and many more were sitting at the round tables on the outskirts of the hall, laughing, chatting, drinking and watching the dancers. Everyone seemed so happy and content in their environment.

Sherlock strode across the hall, a little in front of June, towards the table at the other side of the hall. John was the first one to spot them. A look of concern passed his face as he glanced at the woman with her back to Sherlock. He took another sip of his drink before standing up. Lestrade also noticed Sherlock and stood up, chuckling.

"You know I've always wanted to see Mr Holmes looking so uncomfortable at an event like this!" He exclaimed as he patted Sherlock on the back. Sherlock continued to glare at the table as Mycroft and Tracie also laughed. John let out a forced laughter to help break the uneasy tension.

Sherlock's eyes then shifted to the woman with her back to him. "Miss Adler." He called softly.

Irene turned in her seat to face Sherlock, her lips curling upwards into a smile. He hair was done up like she used to have and she wore a long, white dress that covered her legs and arms but showed off her thin figure. "Mr Holmes," She stood up. "Pleasure to see you again." She took his hand and shook.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as they looked at one another for what felt like a long while. "What are you doing here?" Sherlock's voice was low.

Irene sighed as she released her hand from Sherlock's. "Mycroft called telling me about a serial killer and wondered if I'd like to help out. I'd love to, was my answer. Your _friend_ is related to a serial killer and you need help seeing as you've been incapable is working alone in this case."

Sherlock stared at Irene, unable to say anything in response.

Mycroft shifted in his seat. "She knows the plan for the evening. With a bit of luck we may get this case over and done with before the sun rises again."

Sherlock sighed as he drew out a chair and slumped down next to his brother. Irene too sat down and pulled a chair out between herself and Tracie for June to sit on. Once they were all sat down, they started to discuss their plan. Eventually talking turned to dancing. Lestrade hauled Sherlock to his feet and pushed him towards the dance floor.

"Just keep your eyes peeled," Sherlock said, freeing his shoulder from Lestrade's grip and turning to the group. "Timothy, Steven and the rest of the clique could be anywhere in this hall." He glanced at Irene who took a step forward, holding out her hand.

"Shall we dance, Mr Holmes?" She asked with a smile on her face. Sherlock looked at her hand before taking it. Tracie dragged John onto the dance floor. The hall was packed with people dancing. Everyone was dressed in different outfits. Some wore masquerade masks and some wore 1920's flapper dresses. Everyone was a little but different from the other.

As June worked her way through the dancing crowd, wringing her hands nervously, someone grabbed hold of her upper arm and swung her round. She found herself in the arms of a man wearing a black eye mask. June recognised him instantly as the man took her by the waist and danced to the beat of the music.

"Hello, June." He purred as his lips curled upwards.

"Mr White." She replied.

Steven chuckled as he squeezed her hand in his grip. "Always so blunt towards me, aren't you?"

June narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?" She hissed.

"I'm not after anything, Miss Harris."

June swallowed. "So you know."

"Judith, I've been with your brother for a fair few years now, I know who he really is. And I know who _you_ are."

June tried to pull away from him but his grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer to him.

"Don't call me that." She hissed.

"What? Don't call you by your real name?" Steven paused for a moment. "Oh," He let out a sigh. "Sherlock doesn't know the real you yet."

"And he's not going to," June snapped. "Is that why you went looking for me at the gym and pretended to be the HR manager?"

"Sort of."

"What do you mean sort of?" She demanded as they danced passed an elderly couple. "How did you find my brother?"

"He was sitting in the hideout. I went for a walk and curiosity got the better of me so I wanted to check out the building. I found Timothy there and we got talking. He told me about you and told me what you were doing and that both of you were going under your mother's maiden name. We made a deal then. I gave him money, food and some shelter. Then a year later we formed our clique."

"So how did you manage to fool everyone at Scotland Yard that you were a manager and employ Christopher Burke?"

"I have my ways. That Lestrade chap is easily led. Sometimes you can tell him anything and he would most likely believe you. That's why he believes in Sherlock Holmes. He just gets lured into his trap, just like yourself and John. Even Sherlock's brother doesn't have a lot of faith in him."

"My brother wants to-"

"Kill Sherlock Holmes yes I know," He sighed as they halted for a moment. "And he won't give up," Steven's voice lowered. "Your brother has lost his mind. He murders people because he enjoys it. He thinks it's fun, and the only way you'll be able to keep Sherlock alive is by catching Timothy and taking him to the police to be locked up forever."

June raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to help us out?"

Steven laughed as they started dancing to the music again. His grip on her hand grew tighter and he pulled her even closer so their bodies were touching. "I don't help. I'm part of a clique that likes to get in the way, neither helping nor interfering. I'm telling you how to save the one you love, yet I'm telling your brother that Sherlock is here tonight. He also knows that the police are hiding outside and your team with John, Mycroft, Irene and Lestrade," He paused as licked his lips, looking down at June. "Tell me of Tracie, John's recent girlfriend."

"What's she got to do with this?"

"Oh everything, June. Perhaps the fact that she's using John to help Timothy out. Yes, June, she knows your plan and so do we. She lured John into her trap, making him believe that she loves him. Nope. She's another member of our clique."

They stopped dancing again as June sighed, looking into Steven's eyes. She suddenly felt deflated knowing that John had been tricked by the woman who he had started to fall for.

"Do you know what I think?" She asked as she shifted her hand placement on Steven's shoulder. "I think that you have this big ego about you, making you feel rather confident with your position in your clique and although this court meeting of yours has been subsided for the time being, you think you may as well just get away with it. But we all know you're a fraud. Even to my brother you betray him. Time is slipping away, Mr White, and soon enough," She leaned forward and whispered. "You'll lose time within yourself and everything around you will fall just like a great big, mighty boulder crashing upon the ocean's surface, shattering away until every last part of you is gone forever."

She slowly leaned away from him and they stared at each other for a moment before June quickly pushed away from him just as the music started to speed up. She spun round and disappeared into the forever moving dancers. She then found herself in Sherlock's grip and then danced to the music. Sherlock looked rather taut and frustrated. Their gaze locked into each other's for a while before Sherlock looked over her shoulder.

"Have you seen him yet?" Sherlock asked, his voice very stiff as they moved around the dance floor.

"Who?"

"Steven White."

"I've just danced with him."

Sherlock looked at her and frowned. "June what are you doing?"

"We talked," She replied. "Sadly our plan is not going to work seeing as my brother knows exactly what we all want to do. Someone in our group has betrayed us."

"John's girlfriend." Sherlock muttered. "I guessed from the start she was a bad idea."

June nodded. She watched Sherlock as his eyes darted around the room. She suddenly felt nervous upon the fact that their plan was blown out the window. "It's a dance, Sherlock. Try and look like you're enjoying it."

"What reason is there for me to pretend to be enjoying something I'm not and didn't even want to attend in the first place?"

"Keep a low profile like you said. Pretend so you're not worrying anyone else," June sighed. "Sherlock I feel as if I'm being watched. I feel like people are constantly watching us and that we can't get away with anything secretly."

Sherlock looked down at June for a long while. After a while he opened his mouth a little, looking deep into her eyes. June frowned as it felt as if Sherlock was trying to read her again. Sherlock then suddenly felt aware of the short distance between them, their bodies touching and that her mouth wasn't exactly far from his. He was aware of her hand resting on the back of his neck and that he had his placed on her lower back.

"What?" June asked, still frowning as they stopped dancing.

"Your pupils…" Sherlock paused and frowned. "June your pupils are dilated," He loosened his grip on her hand as he looked away from June. "I want you to know that I'm not interested in any idea of having a love affair and that I'd rather just keep myself to myself." He cleared his throat as he let go of June and turned away from her to find the nearest person to dance with, which happened to be John. June froze on the spot as she watched him awkwardly skitter away. Tears started to fill in her eyes but she quickly brushed them away and walked off the dance floor in a hurry.

John groaned as Sherlock took hold of him and hauled him around the dance floor, nearly making him trip over his own feet. "Really, Sherlock?" He whined. "There's enough rumours about the two of us being together, we don't need to make it worse!"

But Sherlock ignored him as he looked over John's shoulder in hope to find Steven White or Timothy.

The evening went on and June had called a taxi to collect her and take her back to Baker Street. While she was in the ladies toilet waiting for the taxi to arrive, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, appalled by her red, blotchy eyes from crying.

A moment later, June ducked to the tiled floor of the toilets, gripping hold of the sink as a loud gunshot was heard from the ballroom, followed by many screams. The music had stopped and people were screaming as more gunshots were heard. June quickly pushed herself off the ground and ran out the toilets, through the foyer and into the hallway. Hiding under a plant pot, she looked through the arch windows. On the dance floor were many policemen, including Lestrade fighting some men who June only guessed to be the clique members.

"Crouching down there all evening isn't going to help."

June jumped at the sound of Irene's voice and she quickly stood up.

"What do you expect me to do?" June hissed. "They know our plan. Do you have a backup?

Irene eyed her and folded her arms. "I suggest you'd better go upstairs. Do you still have the first victim's skin sample?"

June nodded.

Irene smiled and lightly touched her arm. "Go, Miss Lawrence. Go upstairs now before your brother or anyone else makes it worse," She sighed. "I know you're lying to Sherlock, pretending you're someone you're not. But he's going to have to find out one day."

"What are you going to do?" June asked softly, ignoring her last remark.

Irene smirked as she opened the long split at the bottom of her dress and pulled off a gun which she had tied to her thigh. "Whether they know that we plan to have Timothy arrested by the end of the night, there's nothing wrong with helping in the fight." She turned and walked back down the hallway. "GO!" She shouted back and June ran. She ran back into the foyer, through another set of oak double doors and up a flight of stairs. She slowed her pace and hid behind a wall once she had reached the top to catch her breath. She slowly glanced behind the wall down the dark corridor. There was no one around. Taking a deep breath, June tip toed down the corridor with one hand placed on the wall. The corridor was long and the sound of the fight in the ballroom below sent a shiver down June's spine. She eventually found her way into one of the rooms. Feeling her hand along the wall, she flicked on the light switch. The bright white lights flickered on, revealing the small room. On the other side was a large window overlooking the street. The room was quite small and had three wooden desks and computers along the middle. June walked across the room and looked out the window. The streetlights out on the street were on and parked outside the main entrance of the building were many police cars and vans.

June jumped as one of the clocks on the desk beeped as it hit midnight. She then quickly sat on one of the battered chairs by the desk and turned on the computer. She slipped her fingers down the top of her corset and took out a glass tube she had hidden between her breasts. The tube contained skin samples from Timothy's first victim.

It was another few minutes before the computer was on. June, using the username and password Lestrade gave her, hacked onto Scotland Yard's private system and searched for her brother's actions. There was a whole folder about the clique and Timothy's murders. Taking out pen and paper from the desk's drawer, she noted down anything that seemed relevant. She scanned down her notes and tried to find links but the moment she noticed the link between each murder, it was clear as to why her brother murdered them.

Writing down the first names of the five victims, June crossed out each letter which eventually spelled out: "Judith Harris is alive."

June leaned back in the seat, her stomach knotting with fear. Sherlock believed that Judith Harris died not long after her mother's death. He couldn't read June because she was under cover. Timothy purposely killed these five people because he knew the sentence that all their names spelled out together. Each murder was one step to letting Sherlock know that June was a fraud. But he was unable to see that.

June covered her mouth with a shaking hand, stifling a scream of anger. The sound of the ticking clock echoed in her ears as she looked at the small glass tube in her hands. Sherlock wanted June to research more about his first victim on Scotland Yard's database, using the DNA codes from her skin, but June knew that that plan was no longer relevant. Just as she placed the tube on the desk, a gun clicked in her right ear. June froze.

"I'm glad you've finally discovered the code, Miss Harris." A male's voice spoke. It was a voice that June didn't recognise but as the man moved to the side, she realised that it was Christopher Burke. "Took you long enough." He continued, still holding the gun to June.

June remained frozen on the spot, not wanting to move or say anything. She kept her gaze on Christopher.

"Your brother would be proud of you, June. You discovered something quicker than Sherlock Holmes. In my opinion I'd say he's losing his mind. He can't seem to make a deduction over anything as much as he used to. You'd think that he discovered who you really are." Christopher grabbed hold of June's upper arm and hauled her out of the seat, pushing her out of the room. June managed to turn and attempt to hit Christopher, just like she did at the scene of the second murder, but he blocked her attack.

Christopher let out a roar of laughter as he grabbed her wrist and pulled it behind her back. He pushed her against one of the desks and placed the gun right to her temple. "I assume you don't want me to kill you now."

"I'm sure if you wanted to kill her, you would have done so by now."

Stood in the doorway, pointing a gun to them both was Sherlock. There was a long pause of silence as Sherlock slowly started to edge his way into the room. As he got closer, his gun remained targeted at Christopher. He glanced at June.

"You okay?" He asked calmly.

"Yeah. Never felt better." She replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"Not down with the fight then, Sherlock?" Christopher asked, keeping the gun to June's head.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Fights like that aren't my area," He took one last step closer. "Where is Timothy?"

Christopher shrugged. "Should be around somewhere."

"You are only minutes away before being locked up in prison, Mr Burke, along with the rest of your clique, and I'm just asking you one favour. _Tell me_ where Timothy is."

Christopher pushed June's head to the side with his gun. He narrowed his eyes and clicked the gun. Sherlock shifted on the spot. Then Lestrade, John, Irene and Mycroft walked into the room, all holding guns to Christopher.

"What is this?" He muttered as he pulled June away from the table. June kept her eyes fixed on Sherlock, wishing he would do something.

"Drop your weapon," Greg ordered but Christopher didn't reply. "I said drop your weapon!" When Christopher didn't do as he was told, Greg lowered his gun and pulled the trigger. Christopher dropped the gun and let out a cry as he fell to his knees, clutching his wounded foot. John grabbed hold of June's arm and pulled her behind him as Sherlock took a step forward, holding the gun to his head.

Christopher looked up at Sherlock, sweat pouring from his forehead. "You really want to know the riddle of this case?" He growled, his voice shaking. "Timothy Lawrence is not in the building, Mr Holmes. But he left you a little riddle in his murders."

"I don't like riddles." Sherlock hissed.

Greg, who had noticed June's notes on the desk, picked it up. "Judith Harris is alive." He read aloud. John's grip round June tightened.

Sherlock looked at Greg, frowning. "What?"

"It's a riddle," June spoke out, keeping her voice controlled. "I worked it out."

"How?"

June glanced at Sherlock's bewildered face. Fear flowed through her body. "I looked at all the first names of my brother's victims and that was what each letter in their names spelled out."

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. "Is this a joke?" He snapped. "Is this why you wanted me you research more into this young girl's life?"

June held her breath, terrified that Mycroft or Irene would let it slip. But luckily they both kept it quiet.

"I did not know of this till now, Sherlock," Mycroft hissed. "Judith Harris is alive and somewhere in this world. You just haven't seen it yet."

"The remaining of the riddle is still unanswered, Sherlock," Christopher said. "Five murders of the brother to the woman you live with. Judith Harris tells a fascinating story of a eleven year old who to this day has gone under cover."

Sherlock lowered his gun. "I've had enough of these riddles," He mumbled as he turned and started to walk away. "Lock him up." He said to Lestrade before leaving the room.

June watched him leave before looking at Mycroft and Irene. Lestrade walked across, grabbed hold of Christopher's collar and dragged him away.

"I don't know what this game is," He snapped. "But it's getting ridiculous," He looked at John and June. "Please would you both just help Sherlock and get to the bottom of this! Forget the bloody riddles! We're now on a search to look for Judith Harris as well as your brother, June. This has gone on long enough!" He left the room, dragging Christopher with him, who was hobbling along on one foot. John let out a loud sigh, shocked at Lestrade's sudden outburst. No one had ever seen Greg so angry.

June closed her eyes for a moment as she knew what was to happen. Sherlock had to know that she was Judith Harris before her brother gets to him. Mycroft and Irene knew it too.

* * *

It was the early hours of the morning and all the clique members, apart from Timothy, had been locked up in prison. June and John went back to Baker Street not long after and John retired to his bed, not saying a word. The hurt from being used and lied to by Tracie was clearly seen on John's face and June felt very sympathetic towards him.

It was another bitterly cold night and June couldn't bring herself to fall asleep. Her mind was running over everything that had happened at the ball that night. She sat in the sitting room on one of the windowsills, looking out at Baker Street and smoking a cigarette. She watched the quiet snow fall in the light of the streetlamps. Everything outside was quiet. Even for London the night seemed eerily quiet. The look on Sherlock's face when he read her for the first time, noticing her feelings for him was pictured in her mind. She hated it and wanted to forget it. At the same time she felt hurt from his reaction as he left her on the dance floor very cold heartedly. She quickly wiped away a tear.

"Can't sleep?"

June turned to look at Sherlock who was stood in the doorway, still wearing his suit; minus the tie and jacket. She sighed and looked out the window. "It's the same every night." She replied as she took another drag. There was a moment of silence before she looked at Sherlock who was watching her intently. "You neither?"

Sherlock walked towards her. "I don't like to sleep that often. You've noticed that, June," He sat on the windowsill opposite her, noticing how she was avoiding his eye contact. "Do you have another?"

June looked at him for a moment before nodding. She drew out a lighter and a packet of cigarettes and threw them to Sherlock who caught them with one hand. She watched him as he placed one in his mouth, light it and take the first drag before looking back out the window. There was silence for a long while as they stared out the window.

"Have you any idea about what Christopher meant about his riddle?" June asked, trying to seem concerned about it.

Sherlock shook his head no. "I don't," He muttered. "It's impossible that an eleven year old escaped after killing her mother and continued to live ten years later. What did she do to stay alive?" Sherlock looked at June. "Do you have any idea?"

But June shrugged. "No," She took another drag and slowly breathed out. "At least all the clique members are locked up now."

"How did you solve the puzzle?" Sherlock asked accusingly.

"What?"

"How did you get 'Judith Harris is alive' from the names of the victims?"

"Because I know who my brother is and I know what he's like," June breathed out and Sherlock noticed that she was trembling a little. "Timothy likes his puzzles and his riddles. Making a sentence from letters in names or particular words was something he liked to do," June shrugged again as she brought her knees close to her. "Once I saw the file about Judith Harris on the coffee table, it suddenly became clear."

Sherlock watched her, frowning for a little while but then relaxed, letting his shoulders drop as he suddenly felt sympathy for June; a feeling he very rarely felt.

"I'm sorry," He whispered. "Not about the problem with your brother or the fact that you witnessed someone threatening to shoot you in the head but of what I said," Sherlock looked at June with his eyes who was frowning back at him. "I'm sorry for being too harsh on you."

June rolled her eyes, not wanting Sherlock to apologise or feel sorry because he had hurt her. "Sherlock, there's no reason for you to ever be sorry. Especially to me because I don't matter." She took another drag.

Sherlock leaned back.

"It's true," June continued. "I'm tougher than I look. I can take a beating. I'd never expect you to feel the same way back."

Sherlock noticed that her voice quivered and right at the moment, she wasn't strong. Somehow she had become a little easier to read. "Don't ever say you don't matter, June Lawrence, because you do. You always have and always will."

"Prove it." June snapped.

Sherlock hesitated. "You matter to me."

It felt like a long time as they both stared at each other in silence. June had her mouth open agape, not entirely sure what she wanted to say in response. But after a while, she cleared her throat and she stubbed out her cigarette.

"I think I might try and get some sleep with what little time I have left till sunrise." She muttered as she stood up. Sherlock also stood up so they were facing each other. He looked down at her, their faces inches apart and their lips only millimetres away from each other's. June glanced down at his lips and had a burning desire to kiss him, but she knew she couldn't.

"Happy new year, Sherlock." She said as she turned and walked out of the room.


	11. A visit to the hospital

**A visit to the hospital**

"Where were you, that night? I thought you were supposed to be at the ball." June was leaning forward, resting her elbows on the broken brick wall, smoking a cigarette as she looked out at the muddy water in the pond below her. It was in the middle of January and grey clouds painted the sky, filling the air with a light but cold breeze.

Timothy was stood to her left, also leaning on the wall and looking down at the water. He stared at his sisters reflection in the water as a couple of light raindrops fell into the water. He cleared this throat and spoke as the wind blew.

"Just because my clique was attending, it doesn't necessarily mean that I have to."

June breathed out a puff of smoke before looking at her older brother. She offered him her cigarette and he took it gratefully. There was a long silence around them, except from the busy life of London in the distance and the buzzing of the wind. Only a few feet behind them was the back entrance to the hideout.

Timothy started to laugh quietly. "Look at us," He chuckled. "Two siblings going undercover with our dead mother's maiden name," He looked at June. "If I wanted to I could tell everyone that we're in fact Harris descendants. But for your sake I'll leave that to you. Seeing as you're so eager to save Sherlock's life."

June sighed. "Well I found the link between your murders and what they spell out to."

"I heard," There was another pause as Timothy took another drag and passed the cigarette back to June. "Where is Sherlock now?" He eventually asked.

"At the station with John and Lestrade, I think." June replied and then looked at Timothy. "Have you ever thought about turning yourself to the police?"

"Every day." Timothy breathed.

"Then why don't you do it then?"

"Why don't _you_ turn me in? You've caught me. You can easily hand me over now, Judith."

"Because you're my brother, that's why!" June shook her head. "No matter what you've done, Timothy, I just _can't_ bring myself to do that to you," She let out a sigh. "And please don't call me Judith."

"Why? It is your name."

June flinched and for a split second, Timothy looked a little guilty.

"I won't turn myself in _yet_ because Sherlock isn't dead. I'll turn myself in to the police once he is."

June frowned as she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket to her leather jacket. As she drew it out, she saw that it was Greg calling her. June looked up at her brother with her eyes who was watching her.

"Go on then," He nodded as he reached his hands into his trouser pockets. "Tell Lestrade you've got me. Turn me in. I _dare_ you."

June looked back at her phone before answering the call and holding it to her ear. Greg spoke first before June could say anything.

"June, you might want to come down to the hospital _immediately_," Greg's voice shook as if he was in shock and fear. "It might be a bit of a shock to you, June but-"

"What's happened?" June asked. The feeling of dread flowed through her.

Greg took in a deep, uneven breath, almost hesitating. "Sherlock and John have been taken to hospital because Christopher Burke and some of the clique members broke out at the station and attacked them."

"What?!" June shouted.

"You'd better come to St. Bartholomew's _now_, June. I'll explain when you get here." With that he hung up the call.

June remained on the spot for a while as she looked at her phone. She shook her head. "Sorry," She muttered, trying to force her voice out of her throat. "Sorry but I need to go." She took a few steps back.

"Because Christopher started to attack your beloved Sherlock?" Timothy sniggered.

June hovered on the spot. "You knew!" She shouted. "That's why you wanted to meet up with me today because you _knew_ they would visit your clique members so they could be attacked!"

Timothy shrugged his shoulders and grinned cheekily. "I like to have a little bit of fun with you, Judith. You should know that by now."

June turned and sprinted away from her brother and the hideout as Timothy let out a loud roar of laughter. June ran as fast as her legs could go and once she was out by the main road, she screamed for the taxi that was coming her way. It halted suddenly in front of her and she clambered inside, ordering the taxi driver to take her to St. Bartholomew's. She twiddled her phone in her hands, chewing on her bottom lip in an attempt to stop herself from screaming out in horror or cry. Her patience started to grow thin whenever they had to stop at a red light or were caught behind a careful driver.

June's hands shook with fear and she could feel sweat forming on her forehead and the back of her neck. She was terrified and worried immensely on how Sherlock and John were. She had a little bit of hope that they were okay with no serious injuries. Yet Greg's shaking voice was enough to convince her that she was being too hopeful.

The taxi parked near the front doors to St. Bartholomew's and June leapt out of the door. She ran through the doors and into the reception. Lestrade was standing by the main desk and a few other police officers were dotted around the room. Greg turned to see June as soon as she rushed into the room. His face was white and very solemn. He forced a weak smile onto his face but it faded as quickly as it appeared.

"Where are they?" June cried as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Greg sighed. "Sherlock is fine. It wasn't anything serious, just a small case of concussion and a cut on his throat," Greg swallowed hard and lowered his voice. "John's been stabbed. In the shoulder. The same shoulder he was shot in while in Afghanistan."

June stared at Greg for a while before nodding. He squeezed her arm before turning back to the receptionist.

A few minutes later and June found herself walking down the corridors, passing many different wards to find the one where John was. Once she had reached it, she hesitated by the door, taking in a deep breath before walking in.

In the centre of the ward was a bed with John sleeping restlessly. The sight of John motionless with tubes connected to his arms and his life support machine beeping at his side made June's knees tremble with terror. She opened her mouth in horror but quickly shut it again. Gathering all the courage she could muster, June slowly approached the bed, looking from John's lifeless face to his wounded shoulder which was covered in thick bandages, yet blood still stained the outer layer. The silent ward petrified June, and her seeing John in that state upset her vastly.

Once she stood by his side, tears filled her eyes as she gripped hold of the railings on the bed. Her limbs shook with anger, fear and heartbreak. She couldn't take it.

"I'm sorry, John," She whispered, her eyes fixed on John's face. "I'm so sorry," She pulled a chair from behind her and sat beside him. "I've lied to both you and Sherlock. And you're spending your time covering for me just because I'm just so foolish enough as to get myself into a position like this!" She sniffed as she leaned forward and clasped his hand. "I should've just stayed at the café instead of running off with Sherlock. I'm getting in the way, making you an easier target for the clique." June's voice broke as she squeezed his hand and burst into silent sobs. She remained there, clutching onto John's hand until a nurse walked in to inform her that her visiting time was up. She needed to be reminded twice before she found the motivation to get out of the chair. She left the ward, followed by the nurse, without looking back.

The corridor seemed full of life as doctors, nurses and visitors passed up and down, some casually and some in a hurry. There was the sound of chatter and people crying in the distance as well as the continuous sound of footsteps, but everything seemed so muffled in June's ears as she walked across the corridor. The nurse closed the door to the ward behind her and offered June tea or coffee, but June didn't respond. She had her brother's playful and manipulative voice ringing in her ears and she suddenly wished that she did turn him in to the police when she had the chance. Yet at the same time she didn't want to be the one to do that.

Finding her way across the corridor, passing other people walking up and down, June rested her hand against the wall for balance as she felt herself choking on her own tears. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks as she turned and leaned fully against the wall, yet her legs were unable to hold her body weight for much longer, so she let her knees collapse as she slowly slid down the wall till she was sitting on the cold floor. She wanted to scream aloud for a long time but she had no voice to do so. Only silent sobs escaped her lips. Her shoulders shook and June felt a searing pain through her chest.

It felt like a lifetime before anyone stood by her side. The familiar deep, almost captivating voice that she had fallen in love with soothed her to some extent, yet there was a falter in the voice as if he too was suffering from shock.

"Don't ever get into thinking that this is your fault, June," Sherlock said. "It wasn't. Even if you were there at the scene, there wouldn't have been a way for you to stop it."

June looked up to her left to see Sherlock towering over her. There was a dark shadow over his face and his eyes, which usually were piercing, were suddenly downcast. It was clear that he too was in a state of shock over John's wound. There was a dark purple bruise under his left eye, dried blood under his nose and his bottom lip was split. There was a bandage covering the right side of his neck.

"John will be fine," Sherlock managed to say with some difficulty. "I promise you that." Sherlock remained eye contact with June and a great wave of sympathy overtook June's feelings. Sherlock had relied on John greatly in the years they worked together and he looked a little lost without having someone to stand by. Sherlock Holmes had always come across as someone who could do everything his own way without concerning others, but June knew he always needed someone there by his side to keep him sane.

Sherlock reached out a hand to June and after a little hesitation, she took it. He pulled her up off the floor and they slowly walked back down the corridor, hand-in-hand. They ignored Lestrade as they passed the reception and clambered into the first taxi to take them back to Baker Street.


	12. Incarceration

**Incarceration**

Snow fell heavily over London, covering all the roads and the roofs of every building. As the days went by, the snow seemed to be never ending and became thicker and thicker. It became so thick that people started to leave their cars out on the roads as it was impossible to travel further. Trains were delayed, so were buses and no one was able to find any taxi's.

It had been a week since the break out at the station and John was still in hospital. Sherlock was able to call him every day and John came back with the same news: he was recovering. Yet the sound of his voice said otherwise. Neither Sherlock nor June were able to visit him on a regular basis like they wanted to because they couldn't catch any taxi or buses. They both felt incarcerated as they spent their days staying in the apartment. Sherlock hardly spoke, and it worried June as he smothered himself with notes about the Judith Harris case. He often received calls from Greg asking about Timothy. They had to discuss Steven White's next court meeting, seeing as he was the only clique member who wasn't locked up. The meeting was postponed again due to the weather which infuriated Sherlock. Because of this, he punched the wall, followed by grabbing his spare gun and shooting at it. Mrs Hudson was highly unimpressed.

June spent most of her time curled up on the sofa reading through _The Point of Pointism_. Sherlock knew that she took the book from their bookshelf but remained to stay quiet about it as he let her read it alone.

The absence of Sherlock's voice haunted 221B Baker Street. Once in a while, June would here him muttering "Where's John when you need him?". It wasn't until one evening, while the fire was burning in the fireplace, Sherlock sat on the sofa beside June and watched her. He watched her eyes as they scanned the pages of the book and the way her left hand played with a strand of her hair.

"You like that book then." Sherlock eventually said.

June sighed. "Yeah," As she breathed out heavily. "It's quite different to what I've read before."

"Yeah but it's a load of rubbish. Some con author pretending to know everything about life and being smart by confusing his readers."

June glanced at Sherlock. They stared at each other for a while before June went back to reading the book. Silence had filled the apartment for a long while before Sherlock spoke again.

"I hate this," He grumbled as he leaned back in the sofa. "This feeling so being so incarcerated in your own apartment. It's enough to make any normal person crazy."

June raised her eyebrows. "What about you? Aren't you normal?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Why would I want to be like you? Normal is boring."

June froze, staring at Sherlock in surprise at his insult but then realised that it was common of Sherlock to be that rude without thinking beforehand. She laughed a little and to her surprise, Sherlock started to laugh quietly too. Before they knew it, they were both laughing aloud, their shoulder shaking, stomach's aching, and broad smiles on their faces.

Everything seemed to brighten up as January rolled into February. The snow died down and every so often, the sun would make an appearance behind the clouds. Life in London buzzed again. Taxis, buses and trains were on the move again. The daily phone calls from John were more positive. John's voice seemed back to normal. He sounded happy and more hopeful as he told them that he was allowed out of the hospital in the next week. Life in 221B Baker Street buzzed too and both June and Sherlock seemed happier. They talked to each other again but this time, there was less tension as they both had begun to relax. They found their friendship growing as they started to understand each other a little more. June started to teach Sherlock how to look after himself properly and ways in which he can overcome his boredom. Sherlock then taught June more about being a consulting detective and how he looks for links in crime scenes. One Saturday afternoon, June took Sherlock to the gym and taught him archery. She demonstrated how to hold the bow and aim, just like her father did when she was a little girl. Sherlock was a quick learner and had got the knack of it pretty quickly. After that, they took a trip to a café just down the road from where June used to work to grab some lunch, although Sherlock only had a mug of coffee. They then spent the evenings sitting on the sofa, reading. June encouraged Sherlock to start reading a broader range of different genre's and June found herself reading and rereading _The Point of Pointism_ over and over again. They both seemed so content it was almost as if they had forgotten about Timothy, Steven and the clique. Everything had fallen into place and that feeling of incarceration they had before seemed to have vanished. Even Mrs Hudson seemed pleased that June had helped Sherlock to relax and become happier.

The week had passed and Sherlock and June took a taxi to St. Bartholomew's to take John home one late afternoon. They both were quiet on the journey there as they watched London pass outside.

John was waiting by the reception desk. Once they entered, he turned and smiled broadly them. Sherlock glanced at his arm which was tied in a sling. He let out a loud breath.

"Okay, Mr Watson," One of the nurses said as she trotted over to him. "Here are you pills."

Sherlock looked at the pot of pills which John took. "He doesn't need them." He said flatly as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

John looked at Sherlock and sighed. "Sherlock, don't start." He muttered.

The nurse ignored Sherlock and smiled at John. "Happy recovering, Mr Watson. Call in if there's anything wrong."

Sherlock watched the nurse depart back to one of the wards before they turned and started to the main entrance.

"You know," John began. "I almost forgot what you were like. Spending a few weeks away from you and being surrounded by people who doesn't judge me was like a breath of fresh air."

"Your shoulder is fine," Sherlock said as they left the hospital. "That sling will only hinder the recovery of your shoulder, you need to move it otherwise it'll become stiff. And those pills will give you bad side effects including diarrhoea, migraines and perhaps a fever. Quite honestly, I think you should thank me, John Watson."

John raised his eyebrows as he tucked the pills into his pocket. Sherlock hailed a taxi and the three of them clambered in.

"So what have you been up to while I've been gone?" John asked.

There was a pause. "Not a lot." Sherlock answered.

The journey seemed to take longer than usual and soon it was nightfall. There was a lot of traffic on the roads and it wasn't long before rain started to fall on the windows. It soon became heavier. June leaned back, rested her head on the side and closed her eyes. It was when she was just about to drift off to sleep that she jumped as her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She quickly looked out the window to find that they were still in traffic before she took out her phone.

It was Timothy who was calling her.

June caught her breath in her throat as she looked at Sherlock. His eyes lingered on the caller's ID. His eyes met June's for a second before he took the phone out of her hand and put it against his ear. June started to bite at her fingernails nervously.

"Where are you?" Sherlock's voice was low and solemn. June and John exchanged looks as the voice on the other end of the line was heard, but only as a muffled sound. "Don't give me that, we've been through enough riddles already."

The voice seemed a little high pitched and as Sherlock turned his head to look at June, she knew that her brother was asking after her. Sherlock hesitated for a moment before he removed the phone from his ear and put Timothy on speaker phone.

"June," Timothy's voice rang out. "Is she there?"

"Yeah," June muttered, glaring at Sherlock. "I'm here."

"Well it's nice to hear your voice too."

There was a silence.

"What do you want, Tim?" June asked, breaking the silence.

"Just a little favour," Timothy cleared his throat. "Sherlock there is something you need to know. A little secret that June has kept from you for a _long_ time," He let the words hang in the air for a moment. "Go on, June, tell Sherlock the truth. I'm sure he'll be dying to know everything. And perhaps it would make the riddles seem a little less complicated."

"Stop it," June hissed but when he sniggered and continued to bully her into tell the truth, June started to shake with anger. "Stop it, Tim, just STOP!"

John looked at June with worry before taking the phone out of Sherlock's hand. "Where are you?" He shouted down the phone but Timothy only laughed.

"Go on, June." He said through his laughter.

"Pull over," Sherlock asked the taxi driver but when he didn't do so, Sherlock hollered. "PULL OVER!" The taxi driver did so instantly, pulling the car out of the traffic line and parking in the nearest layby.

John looked at the phone and realised that Timothy had ended the call. "I can track down where he took the call. We can find him from there." John said as he watched Sherlock stand up and walk out the taxi and into the rain, leaving the door wide open. June remained seated in the taxi before following him. The rain was heavier, making both Sherlock and June soaked within seconds. Closing the taxi door behind her, she ran after Sherlock who was standing on the pavement.

"So what is this secret Timothy speaks of," Sherlock said as she reached him. "That was quite a reaction back there, telling him to stop," He looked at her. "Must be something so important that you didn't want to tell me."

June opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it instantly. There were two secrets she had kept from Sherlock, and she knew that Timothy was trying to get June to confess who she really was. But she was still unable to find the words to tell him. Sherlock had lost patience as he grabbed hold of her arms, almost shaking her.

"WHAT IS IT?" He shouted. "I can't be dealing with anymore secrets and lies! If I want to get to the bottom of this case, I need to understand _everything_."

June almost whimpered in Sherlock's strong grip as she tried to pull away from him. "Timothy wants you dead!" June cried. Sherlock stared at her for a while before slowly releasing his grip. June sniffed. "It's true. My brother told me so and says that he will turn himself to the police once he's killed you!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and watched June suspiciously. "Why didn't you tell me?"

June swallowed. She looked at Sherlock in the eye, knowing that although she was letting him know what her brother wanted, she was still lying to him. "Because," She started, looking down at her hands. "Because I felt like I needed to protect you from him," She pushed back the hair that was stuck to her wet face. "Sherlock there's no way I'd ever let my brother near you, _ever_."

"How many times have you met up with your brother behind my back?"

June shook her head. "Hardly ever."

"You're lying to me."

"Just _once_ since the ball. He's my brother, Sherlock. Aren't I allowed to see him?"

"I know he's your brother but he's our serial killer."

"Yes I _know_ he is," June breathed, refusing to argue with Sherlock. "If he could he would maybe break into Baker Street and murder you on the spot there and then. But I know won't."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but let June continue.

"This is just one big game to him. We wouldn't want to end it so quickly. He would find any obstacles to make the game longer than needs be. He would want to drag it on otherwise the game would end too soon. If he killed you now the game will be over."

"How do I know you're not in on this, June? You seem to know your brother very well."

June paused, her mouth open agape in shock with Sherlock's comment. "You think I'm part of this?" She chocked on her own words. "Sherlock, I'm trying to save your life!" She shouted. "I'm trying to keep you from my brother," Sherlock's eyes glared into June's. "If I never left the café he probably would've got you by now. But do you know what made me run with you in the first place? Why I stuck by your side for so long?" June took a step forward. "Because I," She hesitated for a moment. "Because I _love_ you, Sherlock!"

There was tension between them as Sherlock looked taken aback.

"God," June groaned in frustration. "I know that that was your first deduction over me but I thought that I should at least tell you myself. I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and I'm not going to apologise. It would be an _honour_ to spend the rest of my life with you. It really would," She took a couple of steps back. "If you can't bring yourself to deal with that then perhaps you really should start to learn what it's like to be human."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "What do you mean?" He demanded.

June shook her head. "I can't take this anymore. I actually believed that you had a heart but I couldn't have been so wrong. I almost wish I never got involved with this. Just _leave_ me alone!"

She turned and started to run away before Sherlock could say anything in return. He remained on the spot with his hands in his coat pockets. The rain continued to fall heavily on his face and his drenched curly hair stuck to his face. John, who had heard their shouts, watched Sherlock for a moment before he guiltily looked away and shifted in the seat.

June ran through the streets of London, splashing through puddles and squeezing past cars in the traffic jams. Soon she reached the gym, and passing the busy reception, she headed straight downstairs to the archery hall which again was empty.

Her footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls as she marched across the hall, ripping the bow off the wall and marching towards the targets. Knowing that her leather jacket would be stiff from the rain, she pulled it off and dropped it to the floor. She then placed an arrow in position on the bow, aimed and shot all in speed. Every move was in a rush as she took out her anger on shooting the arrows at the target. She hit bulls-eye every time but sometimes she aimed at one of the outer rings. She let out a cry when she released her last bow before dropping to her knees and burying her face in her hands and she cried aloud.

_I could have had a better childhood_. _I could have had a better childhood_. _I could have had a better childhood_.

She remembered all those months ago when she first met Steven White there at the gym when he had snuck up on her while she was shooting. She wished that day never happened and started to wonder where she would be if she never met Sherlock Holmes.

She was they lying down on the cold floor, hugging her knees to her chest, wishing that she would disappear. She shivered in her ball position, feeling incarcerated again.

For a moment, she suddenly felt guilty for everything. She had fooled Sherlock into believing that she's June Lawrence. Even her brother and John backed her up by keeping the secret. She knew that Sherlock couldn't make a deduction over her like he could with John or anyone else because she wasn't who she's supposed to be.

Sherlock couldn't be left alone. Not even John could risk leaving Sherlock alone knowing that her brother was out to kill him.

After what felt like forever, June pushed herself from the floor, picked up her jacket and left the gym and headed back to Baker Street.

The rain had died down a little once she reached 221B, but she was still soaked to the core. Taking the door key out of her jeans pocket, she unlocked the door and slipped inside. The apartment seemed quiet, so she tiptoed up the stairs carefully. There was a glow coming from the sitting room and the sound of fire crackling to indicate that someone was still awake. Breathing in, she pushed open the door and it swung open slowly with a creak. Sherlock was sat in his arm chair, _The Point of Pointism_ was sitting open in his lap yet he wasn't reading it. He had his hands pressed together by his lips like they usually were in his 'thinking' position. He watched June was she hovered in the doorway as if he was waiting for her to return.

"Don't ever leave me."

Sherlock removed his hands from his mouth. "I won't," He replied. "I promise."


	13. A break-in at Baker Street

**A break-in at Baker Street**

"We won't be long," John said to June as Sherlock adjusted his jacket. "Should be no more than a few hours. You'll be okay, won't you?" It was a warm spring morning in April and both Sherlock and John were invited for afternoon tea at Irene's house with Lestrade and Mycroft. June was not at all bothered about Irene not inviting her yet at the same time, she felt a little suspicious on what the meeting was about.

June was sat in Sherlock's armchair, her feet tucked underneath her as she read _The Point of Pointism_ again. She looked at John with her eyes and nodded. "Yeah I'll be fine," She said. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay," John nodded. "We'll see you later." He turned and walked down the stairs. Sherlock's and June's eyes met for a moment before he smiled briefly and then turned to followed John. Once the front door had closed, Mrs Hudson dashed up the stairs.

"June," She called as she reached the landing. "Sorry to bother you while you're reading but I'm going to have to leave you in this apartment alone. You see I've booked an appointment at the doctor's because-"

"It's fine, Mrs Hudson," June cut across her. "Go, I'll be fine."

Mrs Hudson smiled before trotting back down the stairs. June sighed once the front door closed again and returned to her book, almost glad that she was getting a little bit of peace.

Steven White was released from court as not guilty. The nights leading up to the second court meeting were again sleepless and the nights followed were the same. Yet as the weather started warming up and spring had arisen, they heard no news from Steven White and for a moment, Sherlock, John and June believed that they may never hear from him again.

Life in Baker Street became quiet, yet Sherlock was itching for another case. He wanted someone to be murdered so he could run around London and analyse everything but there were no news from Scotland Yard.

A call from Irene came only three days ago, arranging their afternoon tea as an urgent matter. Sherlock's face had seemed a little solemn after the call as if he understood what the urgent matter was about but neither John nor June bothered to ask him about it, knowing that Sherlock and Irene could read each other like a book.

A couple of hours had passed at Baker Street since June was left alone. She cooked herself some lunch and sat in Sherlock's bedroom, reading through John's blog which he had recently updated regularly. June then found herself search prices for a bow and arrow set. To her disappointment, it all was way above her budget.

As it was closing in on late afternoon, June started to feel rather tiresome as she expected Sherlock, John, or even Mrs Hudson to return home. She laid uncomfortably on the sofa, feeling all its springs, and closed her eyes. She fell into a deep sleep, dreaming about her childhood, living with her parents and her brother when they were happy. She suddenly jolted awake at the sound of a loud, harsh banging at the front door. The room seemed to be a little darker than it was in the afternoon. Confused, June sat up and glanced at the wall clock. It was five o'clock in the afternoon and the sun was hidden behind the grey clouds. The harsh banging on the door continued and June jumped to her feet and walked down the stairs, cursing under her breath on the fact that no one had remembered to take a door key before they left.

She swung the door open. The men on the doorstep were not who she had expected. She then felt a sharp pain in her head before she blacked out.

* * *

"Surely there is a way to get rid of him," John said as he twizzled a biro pen with his fingers. "I guess the longer we delay the process, the harder it'll be to catch him."

Mycroft pursed his lips as he shifted in his seat. "And what do you suppose we do, Mr Watson?" He asked but John merely shrugged. "It's your idea. If you have any plan then speak now before matters become worse." But John didn't respond. Mycroft let out a sigh. "Timothy Lawrence is constantly on the move, if you don't know that already, and I think if you want to catch him, Sherlock, you'd best be on the move all the time."

Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Mycroft and Irene were sitting at a round table, a few glasses of wine and ash trays around them. The 'council', as Irene stated it to be, was held in the basement of Irene's house where they had to discuss the important matter of locking Timothy in prison. Apart from John and Mycroft, they were all smoking cigarettes and a cloud of smoke hovered above them.

"This is your case, Mr Holmes," Irene said as she rested her elbows on the table. "What do think we should do?"

Sherlock sighed loudly, looking down at the table. "How about Inspector Lestrade say something about this? He's the one who brought me into this case to study the first murder in Camden Town last year."

Greg looked a little uncomfortable for a moment. "I'm no genius at this," He said. "But…" He paused for a moment in thought. "Has anyone discussed this to June? I mean shouldn't she know Timothy more than any of us?"

"Would she really be any use to us?" Irene laughed. "She's just making it more difficult as she secretly meets up with him and then lets him go because she can't even bring herself to catch him."

"June hasn't seen her brother since the break out in January." Sherlock retorted.

"And what makes you think she hasn't snuck out the house to see him behind your back?"

Sherlock sighed. "I know she hasn't."

"How?" Mycroft asked.

John turned to Sherlock who was sat to his left. "We've left her at Baker Street alone." He muttered so no one else could hear them.

Sherlock held John's gaze for a moment. It was almost as if they were mentally talking to each other. A moment later and John nodded as he suddenly understood. His face went from surprised to acceptance just as if he had guessed it before.

"I know that June hasn't seen her brother," Sherlock started as he slowly looked from John to his brother. "Because I've been with her all the time. Day and night." Sherlock looked down at the table guiltily as if he was somewhat ashamed.

There was a moment of silence.

"In what context?" Mycroft asked carefully.

Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table nervously. John continued to watch Sherlock. He had never seem him look so nervous and embarrassed at the same time.

Mycroft frowned. "You've _slept_ with June Lawrence?" Once he met his brother's stare, he let out a throaty laugh with shock. Lestrade looked rather stunned and Irene glared down at her wine glass. "My brother has slept with our serial killer's sister," He stopped laughing abruptly as his voice was low again. "I almost feel so _proud_." He retorted sarcastically, as he narrowed his eyes.

* * *

June slowly opened her eyes. Her head swerved and her vision was blurry. She could just about see that she was still in Baker Street, but there were blurry figures of two men, who then grew into four, then six.

"What's happening?" She croaked as she squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again. Every time she blinked, her vision gradually became clearer but she couldn't make out the faces around her. Her head pounded and she could feel sweat on her face. Her breathing was unsteady and she couldn't remember anything.

June suddenly realised that she was sitting on one of the wooden chairs that had been pulled out from under the table, which she was tied to. Rope was wound round her arms and body to the back of the chair, and another thick rope tied her thighs to the seat of her chair. Her wrist and her ankles were secured together. June panicked and started to struggle in the seat in an attempt to free herself, yet the more she moved, the more the rope cut into her. June whimpered once her vision had cleared and she saw who stood before her.

"I thought you were supposed to be locked up!" She growled.

Christopher Burke laughed in response.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about how we managed to get some of our clique out of prison. We _are_ sly, if you remember me saying." Steven White said as he walked across her.

"What do you want with me?" June spat as she wriggled, but one of the clique members gripped onto her shoulder to keep her still.

"Revenge," Christopher hissed. "It's about bloody time we got our revenge."

"It's your own fault you were locked up!" June shouted. "Soon enough they're going to notice you're missing from the station and they'll come looking for you. Sherlock will know you've come here."

"And why would Sherlock know that?"

"Because he's Sherlock Holmes, _that's_ why," She started to struggle in the seat as Steven approached her. "And he'll pull you apart when he catches you!" She screamed, but Steven groped at her neck as he drew out a knife from his jacket. He shushed her as he pressed the knife to her lips. June whimpered.

"There's no need for you to make such a loud noise, Judith Harris, you'll concern the neighbours."

"Let them be concerned!" June muttered before spitting at Steven. He screwed his face up in disgust.

"So ladylike, Judith," He took hold of her arm and held the knife to her vein. "I'm sure Sherlock would miss you if you just so happened to die right now. Let him believe it was suicide if we just leave this place without a trace." His gaze bored into June's and a smirk crept onto his face. His grip then grew tighter on her arm and he slashed the knife across her skin, away from her vein. June let out a cry as blood rolled down her arm and onto her legs, staining her denim shorts. Steven walked over to one of the clique members and took something from them. He walked back to June and handed her what he noticed was her mobile phone.

"I want you to call Sherlock now," He demanded. "Tell him that you're going to kill yourself," But June shook her head weakly. "Or you can tell him who you really are."

* * *

Sherlock and Irene were stood on the balcony to her house, overlooking the well-kept garden. Sherlock adjusted the collar to his long coat as he kept his eyes on the garden, while Irene stood to his right, watching him. The sun was slowly sinking behind the horizon, leaving a pink and orange glow in the sky.

"You've changed, Sherlock," She begun. "And I don't think it's for the better."

Sherlock sighed as he looked at her. Irene noticed that his stare never changed, nor did his face, but at the same time, they seemed to be a little different.

"Sherlock Holmes, the master of crimes has found a young girl whom he cares for too much," Irene sighed. "Caring for someone can cause a great weakness within you. Surely your brother told you that before."

Sherlock frowned. "Tell me what's so different about me."

"Everything. You can't read her. You've been completely stumped on this single case for nearly a whole year now. What happened to the cunning Sherlock I used to know? It's almost as if she's poisoned your mind!"

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you _slept_ with her that's why!" She snapped. "What's wrong with you Sherlock? Do you even love her back?"

"No," Sherlock said defensively. "Even _you_ know that, Miss Adler. Love is something I don't like to get involved with."

Irene shifted on the spot. "Then why did you do it? Surely you must regret it at least."

"I don't regret anything," He muttered. "I hate to say I feel somewhat ashamed about it but at the same time I don't," He took a step closer till they were face to face. "Why do you tell me that caring makes me weak, yet you care what I do?"

Irene paused for a moment. "And is that a problem?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes before pulling away from her and looking at the garden again. He rested his hands on the short stone wall as he looked down. "June told me that her brother is out to murder me, and she knows that he will stop at nothing till he gets what he wants."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Irene asked with concern in her voice.

"Because I for one am not too sure if I believe it."

"What, you don't believe in June?"

"No, it's just what June said," Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. "She said that Timothy likes to play games and that he would do anything to drag it on to make it longer than necessary," Sherlock lifted his head so that the sun shone brightly in his face. "But this isn't a game, Irene." He then muttered.

Irene sighed, remembering that Sherlock still didn't know the truth about June and felt somewhat sympathetic towards him. She reached out and squeezed his arm, knowing how much this case had dragged on and the affect it had on him.

"It won't be long now, Sherlock," She whispered. "We'll catch Timothy and lock him up. Depending on what the jury says, I won't be surprised if they send him to Broadmoor Hospital."

"He will be."

Without hesitation, Irene reached up and kissed Sherlock softly on the lips. He frowned as she pulled away.

"We'd better start running then, Mr Holmes," She said softly. "The fire's only just begun."

One of the corners of Sherlock's mouth curled upward into a weak half-smile. Then the sound of frantic footstep came running towards them. Lestrade came to the arch doorway, he face was white and eyes wide in fright.

"They've escaped," He panted. "Christopher and the clique have escaped!"

* * *

One of the members held the mobile phone to June's ear as she cried while it rung. She knew there was no way of getting out.

"June," Sherlock's voice called down the phone. "Where are you?"

June hesitated for a moment as she swallowed back her tears. "I'm still at Baker Street," From the shakiness in her voice, it was clear that she was not okay. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry." She cried.

"Don't be," He muttered. "Just tell me who's with you?"

June looked at Steven standing opposite her. "Who do you think?"

With that, one of the members grabbed hold of her hair and pulled her head back. June yelped in pain but then the door slowly opened. They all turned to see Sherlock stepping inside with a phone to his ear and a gun in his other hand.

"Don't worry, June," He said, keeping is eyes fixed on Steven. "We'll sort this out soon," He then hung up. "Oh, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Mr Sherlock Holmes. What are you now? A comic book superhero?" Steven snapped.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Close enough," He continued to point the gun at Steven. "I hope you realise that all of you are going to be locked up for the rest of your life because of this. No one ever breaks out of prison and gets away with it. And _no one_ freely breaks into _my_ apartment and gets away with it!" Sherlock shouted.

There was a pause before Steven bent over in fits of laughter. Sherlock looked uncertainly at him before glancing down at June.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly.

"Never felt better." She replied shakily. Sherlock then noticed the gash in her arm before turning back to Steven who had started to stop laughing.

"I wouldn't do this if I didn't believe we'd get away," Steven gestured at Christopher to join him. "I'll give you a deal." He said, taking out his wallet as Christopher stood by his side.

"I don't want your money." Sherlock hissed.

Steven raised his eyebrows and ignored his comment. "If you let me go and tell no one about this, then I will tell you the answer to Timothy's riddle," Steven noticed the intrigued look on Sherlock's face and smirked. "That's what you want isn't it? You want this case to be solved, right? Well, let us go and I'll tell you who Judith Harris is and where she is."

Steven and Sherlock stared at each other for a long moment.

"And what if I declined?"

Steven sighed as he held up his knife. The blood from June's cut had stained the blade. "I'll kill you on the spot."

_BANG_.

Steven fell to the ground, screaming in pain as he clutched his thigh. Sherlock turned to his left quickly to see John standing by the table in the kitchen with a gun in his hand. Before anything else was said, both Sherlock and John started to fight the clique members. They fought back but both Sherlock and John were strong enough to handle them. Once they were all unconscious, John called the police to come up as they were waiting outside 221B. Sherlock crouched down on the floor next to Steven and grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt.

"I'm only going to ask this once," He hissed through gritted teeth. "Where is Judith Harris?" He shook Steven vigorously when he didn't reply. "TELL ME!"

"She's right under your nose!" Steven shouted with all his might before falling back to the floor again in exhaustion. Sherlock hesitated as he watched Steven shake on the floor. He then got back on his feet and rushed to June who was whimpering.

Sherlock hurriedly untied the ropes around her as he whispered softly that she was safe and that it's all over. June continued to shake and cry and once her wrists were free, she covered her face in her hands. After releasing her ankles, Sherlock slowly removed her hands from her face and gingerly stroked her cheeks with his fingertips, wiping away her tears.

"It's okay now," He whispered. "You're safe."

June managed to nod, but some police officers came barging into the room, followed by Lestrade and Anderson.

"Is everything okay?" Greg asked Sherlock quietly as the police stared to carry the clique members out of the apartment.

"Why did you have to bring Anderson?" Sherlock muttered.

"He's a good help."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"How is she?" Lestrade asked, glancing at June. John was by her side, examining the gash in her arm.

"In shock," Sherlock answered, rocking back and forward on his heels. "She'll be fine soon."

Anderson came up to them with a clipboard in hand. "I regret to have to say this, but I thank you, Sherlock. For catching them." He muttered, but it was clear that he didn't mean what he was saying, almost like someone had forced him to say it.

"No you don't." Sherlock grinned at Anderson.

"What's going on here?" Mrs Hudson squealed as she hovered in the doorway. She then turned to Sherlock. "If you're bringing more trouble into this apartment, Sherlock, I'll make you pay more for your rent for making such a mess!"

Sherlock glanced at Greg who started to laugh.

* * *

It was late in the evening and John was sat in the armchair. His hands were clasped together, resting in his lap and he had a book sitting on the arm of the chair beside him. His head had bent down to his breast as he fell asleep. Not long after the police had gone, John had cleaned June's wound and wrapped a bandage round her arm.

June was curled up in Sherlock's bed in an uneasy sleep. Sherlock was sat in a chair beside her. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands pressed together in his 'thinking' position as he watched the sleeping June. As she slept, she looked a lot more relaxed. The creases in her forehead and around her mouth had disappeared and she almost looked at peace, but he knew she wasn't.

"Are you going to stay there all night?" Mycroft's voice was heard from behind him. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Mycroft sighed and stood by his brothers side with his arms folded. "Does Sherlock admit defeat? A series of murders he was unable to link, a serial killer he is unable to catch and an essence of a young woman who even he cannot comprehend," Mycroft turned so Sherlock could see him. "What's gotten into you? Why do you care about her so much?"

"I'm only returning her a favour," Sherlock replied. "She's been helping me out with this case and to look after her is all I can do in return."

"And then sleep with her? Sherlock you love her but don't want to admit it. First you become infatuated with _the _woman who has committed crimes before and now you've fallen in love with our killer's sister. We have a killer on the loose, Sherlock. Remember that."

"And since when did you and Miss Adler communicate with each other so often?"

"She merely offered to help," Mycroft paused as he watched his brother. "You don't really know who she is, do you?" He asked, gesturing to June. "She's not the June Lawrence she says she is." Mycroft let the words hang in the air for a while. "Good night, Sherlock." He closed the bedroom door behind him as he left.

_She's right under your nose!_

_ She's not the June Lawrence she says she is._

The voices rang through Sherlock's head as he watched June. He then reached forward and stroked the side of her face.

"Who are you?" He whispered.

Her phone, which was sitting on his bedside table, vibrated as it received a text. Sherlock glanced at the phone as he removed his hand and picked up the phone.

It was a text from Timothy Lawrence.

**21****st**** June, meet me at the Silvertown Millennium Mills, Judith. I'll be waiting.**


	14. Trouble in Silvertown

**Trouble in Silvertown**

"Happy birthday, June," Sherlock said with a smirk on his face as he passed June a very long box. "It's from all of us." He gestured to both John and Mrs Hudson.

June glanced at Sherlock as she took the box. It was quite heavy and something inside rattled when moved.

"Hope it's your size." John smiled.

June perched on the arm of the armchair Mrs Hudson was sitting in, and she ripped of the exquisitely decorated wrapping paper. Dropping the paper to her side, she slowly opened the box to reveal a beautiful wooden bow and about a dozen arrows. June's face lit up instantly as she jumped to her feet, cheering with joy. John chuckled, obviously pleased with her happiness. Sherlock on the other hand watched her and surveyed her every move.

June pulled out the bow from the foam wrapping and attached an arrow to the string. She pulled back and aimed at the yellow painted smiley face on the wall, but did not release. Compared to the metal bows at the gym, her new one was a lot easier to use and was more flexible. Yet she knew that nothing could compare to her old bow her father gave her.

"How much did you have to pay for it?" She asked as she examined the woodwork.

John laughed again. "We thought that you should have a new one seeing as the police destroyed your old one."

June swallowed at the mention of her old bow being destroyed but she smiled again as she plucked at the string. She thanked Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson and kissed them on the cheek, but she couldn't help but notice Sherlock's awkwardness, his stiffness and his accusing look as she approached him. A shudder ran down her spine but she suddenly felt at ease as she felt his hand rest on her waist for a moment.

It was the second week into the summer month June, and summer had decided not to make an appearance that year. The sky was coated in grey clouds and every so often there were sunny intervals, but the days were filled with a harsh wind and short sharp rain showers. It was raining heavily on June's birthday so they decided to spend the day inside. Mrs Hudson offered to cook a nice birthday meal seeing as neither of them was keen on the idea of having dinner out seeing as the weather was so poor.

Since the break in at Baker Street, there had been a little difference in Sherlock's attitude and June noticed how the cold and blunt Sherlock she first met a year ago had returned. Over the past months, after Sherlock found out about her feelings for him, his personality started to soften around the edges and he became more protective over her. That night they slept together, not much was said about it afterwards. Sherlock himself felt a little awkward about doing it at first but it was fine as they both felt comfortable in one another's presence. Then their relationship was closer and Sherlock really started to take care of her, just as if he was trying to protect her from her own brother, yet nothing was spoken of him. Most nights, John and Sherlock would sit together and discuss Timothy when June wasn't around. And occasionally Sherlock would be nosy about John's blog and poke and prod at all the ins and outs of it. But since Steven White broke into Baker Street, Sherlock went back into his normal self again and June didn't know why. He spoke more to John in secret and June always felt like Sherlock was making a deduction over her whenever he looked at her. This concerned her and the text she received from her brother, wanting to meet her at Silvertown Millennium Mills made her concern increase immensely. Not wanting to keep it from anyone, she thought it would be wise to tell Sherlock and John about this meeting, knowing that it was about time they caught her brother in the action before he got any closer to killing Sherlock. They made a deal with Lestrade, Mycroft and Irene who were willing to capture him. After several councils at the round table in Irene's house, they came to an agreement to sneak up behind him rather than coming face front to an upcoming battle. June would have to meet her brother on her own. She was given an earpiece to wear so they could track where they are and what her brother says to them. Mycroft had to remind them that her brother is very sneaky and sly and although his clique members are locked up, there is more to him than meets the eye.

"Like there is more to _all_ of us than meets the eye." Mycroft said as he looked at June who remained her focus on her hands that were clasped together on the table.

Although Sherlock had discovered that June Lawrence was in fact Judith Harris, he remained silent about it and said nothing to no one, not even John. But Mycroft had a word with him on the balcony after the council.

"They know," Mycroft started. "The police. They know who June is."

Sherlock's face was grave as he looked out at the garden. "And?"

"They want to take her away and question her. Most likely she'll be proved as guilty and then locked away," Mycroft sighed as Sherlock didn't respond. "Unless you have proof to state that it was an accent and that her killing her mother was out of pure innocence," Mycroft took a step closer to his brother. "Sherlock?"

The 21st of that month came round very slowly as the anticipation for it increased. Baker Street became quiet again as Sherlock, John and June was locked away in their own thoughts. June continued to read _The Point of Pointism_ again as John updated his blog to pass the time. Sherlock remained seated in his armchair with his hands pressed together against his lips in his 'thinking' position, looking directly in front. Sometimes he would breathe out heavily or stir in his seat, but he would always be thinking. June often caught Sherlock watching her with narrowed eyes. She tried smiling at him uncomfortably but he never returned one, so she just returned to her book.

* * *

After a lot of struggle, June finally managed to open the rusty iron door of the side closest to the river. Silvertown loomed above her with smashed windows, rust and overgrown grass. Sherlock, John and the others were hiding somewhere in an office, yet the place seemed eerily quiet. The door creaked loudly as she stumbled inside. Just like Timothy's last hideout, it was pitched black inside yet the area around her seemed a lot larger. Taking off the torch she had attached to the bottom of her black leather jacket, she switched it on. She had her bow in one hand and her arrows in her quiver slung on her back.

"Can you _see_ anything?" Sherlock's voice hissed through her earpiece.

"No," She breathed as she shone the torch around the darkness, moving steadily forward. "I can't see much. It's just a big open space, I think."

"Any doors?"

"Not that I can see."

June trod on something that was on the ground. Shining her torch at it, she bent down to have a look.

"There's a MacDonald's coke cup on the floor here. And it's still full of ice." June picked it up as the ice fell out onto the stone flooring.

"Well obviously he hasn't been here long. He must be close by. Just keep moving." Sherlock's voice seemed rather agitated as if he was impatient and was urging her on to move quicker.

June started walking again with the torch clutched in her hand. Her eyes started to get used to the darkness and it was less hard to see her surroundings. In front of her was a large double doorframe. June shone the torch around the frame, noticing that the door had been ripped off its hinges. Just as she stepped through the doorway Tiny Tim's _Tiptoe Through The Tulips_ started playing. June froze for a moment before relaxing, letting out a sigh as she rolled her eyes. Sherlock remained silent for a moment out of confusion. June felt a lot less scared than she did last time her brother played that song at the last hideout.

"Timothy," June called as she walked in. "Okay, Timothy, it's fine. I'm here now." The song continued to play aloud as she walked through. The room she had entered was a lot lighter than the one before. It was a large open space and on the far end was a fire escape door. June called Timothy's name again but there wasn't a reply. Instead the song played again once it reached the end.

"Keep moving, June." Sherlock warned, but June ignored him as she noticed that in the middle of the large room were ten targets, identical to the one's in the gym.

"Sherlock," She said as she glared at the targets. "I think my brother is trying to play a game with me."

"June, just keep moving."

"Tell me why he has put ten targets in a line here. Surely Silvertown wouldn't just have them lying around here for no purpose."

"What else can you see, June?"

June spun round as she glanced around the room. "Nothing. Just a fire door." There was a moment before someone grabbed hold of her from behind. June let out a scream as she was pushed to the ground, the earpiece flying out of her ear. Sherlock called after her in a panic but she was unable to reply.

June tried to push off the man on top of her but he dug his knee into her chest, making it harder for her to breathe. She managed to smack him on the ear making him loose balance. She scrambled to her feet as someone else took hold of her, trying to bring her down. June had to fight back, kicking and punching men as more and more came after her. After getting away, she clipped an arrow onto her bow and aimed at a man standing in the rafters. She shot which pierced him right in the chest. There were many more coming closer to her and attack her and all June could do was fight them back and try and get away. She knew that it was all down to her brother.

She knocked three men down that were in front of her and then in an instant, she clipped an arrow onto her bow and as she did so, she spun round and released the arrow which hit a man that was approaching her from behind. Then there was nothing except the song that continued to play. June breathed in an out heavily as she clutched onto her bow with a shaking hand. The moment was then followed by the sound of police sirens and cars stopping just outside the building. June broke into a run as soon as the song reached the end and didn't play again. She pelted through the fire doors which led her into a long corridor with open windows that looking out the front. She held her mobile phone to her ear as it had begun to ring.

"Sherlock I can't do this." She panted.

"Yes you can, June, you just need to keep running. There should be a another fire door in front of you, am I correct?"

"Yeah."

"Go through them and take a sharp left. You'll be led into another corridor which is long but on the other end is another door which should lead you into a large office. We're in the smaller office at the far end."

"I thought I was supposed to be seeing my brother." June said as she stopped running to catch her breath.

"Your brother is playing a game, June. A game where he knew that we all would be coming to this meeting. We've tracked him down and know where his position is in the building. Now for god's sake keep running!"

"Why are the police here?" June asked, letting the panic clear in her voice but Sherlock didn't respond. It had seemed that Sherlock left the phone on the side and was talking with the others, but their voices were muffled. June groaned as she started running again. She ran through the double doors, taking the sharp left. It was a long corridor that looked as if it would be never ending.

"Where are you now?" Sherlock asked after a while.

June hesitated for a moment. "I haven't reached the end of the corridor yet."

"Run faster!"

"I'm running as fast as I can, for Christ sakes, Sherlock!" June snapped. "This bow and my arrows are a lot harder to carry around when running."

Sherlock sighed. "Just put them down, June. We'll come back to them later."

June stopped running again as she put her hand on the wall to steady herself. Sherlock's voice was ringing in her ears. She slowly took the quiver off her back and rested it against the wall along with her bow. She took and good long look at it before putting the phone back to her ear.

"Why has June stopped running?" Mycroft shouted from the distance.

"Just let me catch my breath for one moment!"

"June, you need to run faster." Sherlock warned.

"Run any faster and I'll trip over my own bloody feet!"

"Don't you _dare_ give up!" Sherlock snapped. "There are more men about that can catch you."

June let out a laugh. "I would've given up if you didn't tell me that." She then started running down the corridor again, finding it a lot easier without the weight of her bow and arrows. "I'm nearly there; just give me a few seconds."

"The green door would lead you to the large office."

June pushed open the green door and stumbled inside but then paused in her tracks.

"No," She breathed. "It's taken me to a flight of stairs."

To her left was a large black sign reading 'FLOOR ONE'. There about eight stone steps leading upwards before turning to the right and another flight leading upwards the other way. June, with one hand on the metal banister, slowly walked up the first flight of stairs. She waited before climbing the rest. She was listening to the voices on the other end of the line.

"She's further away than we thought." Mycroft said.

"John, cover me." Sherlock ordered followed by the sound of footsteps.

"Sherlock, you can't go!" John snapped. "Timothy is out there to kill you! It's not a great idea."

"And it's not a great idea to leave June out there on her own. We need to get her before the police do."

A rush of dread hit June. "What do you mean, the police will get me?" She hissed but no one answered.

"Sherlock's right," Lestrade said. "They know all and will lock her up. And her brother once we catch him."

Sherlock's voice was calm. "I know where Timothy is and I can avoid him."

June jumped at the sound of voices out in the corridor. "Sherlock would you _please_ just tell me what's going on?" June cried. "Why are the police after me?"

"This is all part of her brother's game." Mycroft said deeply.

There was a long pause before June heard Sherlock breathe down the phone. "Judith Harris, I think you should start running again, don't you?" With that he ended the call.

June hovered for a moment in shock, still holding the phone to her ear. The one thing that she had feared the most was finally revealed: Sherlock knew about her true identity. It explained why he was so cold with her again and was constantly watching her every move.

June cursed loudly as she started sprinting up the stairs.

* * *

Sherlock ripped off his coat from the back of a chair and slipped it on.

"Sherlock, I don't want you to go out there!" John shouted as he stormed up to him. "It's _not_ okay. Her brother wants to murder you."

"Tell me this, John," Sherlock hissed as he stood face to face to John. "What reason do you think Timothy has to kill me?" He asked. "He's clever and made his murders look random with no links. But June discovered her own fate in the murders spelling out that Judith Harris is alive. Her brother loves games. He doesn't like them to end and will create as many obstacles to make the game longer. And people like that will perhaps go out of their way to trick other people in their games to make them vulnerable. The idea of him wanted to kill me was only an obstacle."

John paused a moment before frowning. "He wants to kill June?"

Sherlock stared at John for a while, not responding.

"He wants to murder his sister out of revenge from killing their mother. Telling her that he wants to kill Sherlock will only make her vulnerable." Irene said as she folded her arms.

John opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as if struggling to find the right words to say. "How long have you known this?"

"Since the break in at Baker Street." Sherlock said as he walked towards the door. He then looked at Irene who nodded. Sherlock opened the door and ran down the corridor.

* * *

June climbed all the stairs until she reached the top where there was another green door. The door led her to a large open space with very few lights. She looked around her surroundings as she walked in. There was no one around but she wished that she didn't leave her bow and arrows downstairs. She jumped as the other green door on the other side of the large space opened. A tall dark figure stood in the doorway.

"SHERLOCK!" June shouted to him as she took a step forward, but as she did so, someone pulled her back. Sherlock came pelting towards them as she felt a agonisingly sharp pain in her left side.

Timothy dug the knife further into his sister's body, allowing the blood to pour onto the stone flooring. Sherlock cried out as Timothy pulled out the knife and let June collapse to the floor. He looked at Sherlock who was pointing a gun at him.

"I'm glad you've made it to the end, Mr Holmes, and you've finally discovered everything. Even after a year, you've finally unravelled my riddle," He let out a weak laugh, as he registered Sherlock's shaking hand and grave face. "I'm sorry but your loved one isn't going to last the hour. And by the looks of things, _no one_ is going to get locked up, apart from yourself and your team who are going to be the only witnesses to see this." He took a step back and raised his knife.

"NO!" Sherlock yelled but it was too late. Timothy quickly slit this throat deeply with his knife. Sherlock jumped back and cried out when Timothy fell to his knees. Blood pouring onto the floor, Timothy fell onto his side with his mouth open. Sherlock watched him in horror as he gradually lost his consciousness. There was a moments silence as Sherlock frowned at his feet, his body trembling. He let out a gasp and fell onto his hands and knees as his legs were unable to carry his own body weight. He let the gun slip out of his hands and he had visions of Timothy stabbing June playing over and over again in his mind.

June let out a whimper. Sherlock looked up instantly and crawled over to her, slightly hopeful that she was still alive.

"June," He whispered as he held her in his arms, close to his breast. "It's okay; you're going to be fine. There's an ambulance just outside." He ripped off his scarf and pressed it firmly to her wound. She cried out but Sherlock only held her closer. He slowly stroked her cheek with his thumb. "You were scared when you pushed your mother so you ran away. No one could believe it was an accident but I do. And so does John," Sherlock's voice wavered and faulted in places. "I know you're Judith Harris. June is your birth month and Lawrence was your mother's maiden name. You just wanted to start a new life but had the constant fear of being discovered. But to me, you're still June Lawrence because that's how I know you."

A tear trickled down June's cheek. "I'm sorry." She whispered as she weakly lifted her hand and placed it on top of Sherlock's, which was pressing down on her wound with his scarf. With all the energy she could muster, she pulled Sherlock's hand and the scarf away from her wound, leaving it open.

"No!" Sherlock cried but June quickly held his hand, interlocking her fingers with his before he could get the scarf again.

"It's for the best…" Her words didn't come out but Sherlock knew what she wanted to say. They looked at each other for a moment and then June took in her last breath and did not speak again. Sherlock froze, looking at her limp body before looking upwards to the ceiling, blinking back the tears. But he couldn't suppress the cry that escaped his lips. With that, he wrapped both his arms securely round June and pulled her into him. He pressed his lips to her forehead as he shook and cried silently – something he never found himself doing.

It wasn't long before the green door leading to the stairs burst open and policemen came running in, shouting and giving orders to Sherlock. John, Irene, Lestrade and Mycroft came in with them but were ordered down to their knees with their hands behind their heads. They then noticed the dead body of Timothy and the limp body that Sherlock was cradling. The policemen came up to Sherlock and ordered him to let go of the body, but the world around him was fuzzy and he couldn't hear what they were saying. Then someone took hold of his shoulder and hauled him away, Sherlock closed his eyes as he slowly let go of June for the last time. The policeman shook Sherlock by the shoulder vigorously but he did not respond.

"Give him a chance!" Mycroft shouted. "He's in shock!"

They were taken out of the building as the paramedics put June's and Timothy's bodies on stretchers. Sherlock, who was sat in the back of an ambulance, had a shock blanket wrapped around him. His hands were clasped together as he blankly looked ahead. Resting on his lap was June's bow and arrows and her leather jacket. The police tried to get them off him as they needed them as evidence but John told them to let him hold onto them for a while longer. He only moved when John slowly approached him. He looked up at his best friend but neither of them said anything. John cleared his throat as he took a seat next to Sherlock and squeezed him arm. Sherlock responded as he clasped John's hand in between his. They remained silent and John knew that he had to be by his friends side at all times.


	15. A final farewell

**A final farewell**

It was in the early afternoon on a warm summer's day and both Sherlock and John were sat in their armchairs at 221B Baker Street. It had been three weeks since Silvertown. Three weeks of living hell. Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Irene and Lestrade were moving in and out of the police station being questioned by officers about the whole Harris family case. Mycroft had to tell the story from the start, from the moment Judith's and Timothy's father was shot dead in Afghanistan. Both Mycroft and Lestrade were close to losing their jobs due to being the witnesses of the case and the police were finding it hard to believe that Timothy's death was only suicide after killing his sister. Sherlock remained to say nothing at all. Irene came in telling them about Timothy's riddle and his game. And then after three long weeks they were all released as innocent and the Harris case was drawn to a final close. The rest of the clique members had a prison sentence for life and Timothy's and June's bodies were kept at St. Bart's for a few days. Their funeral was short and sweet as they were buried next to each other in one of London's cemeteries. It was the final goodbye and when everyone left, John stood to the side for Sherlock to say goodbye to June in private.

"Have you written a blog?" Sherlock asked as he looked at John who had his laptop sitting on his lap. "A blog about June and her brother?"

John sighed. "I've started one."

"What have you called it?"

John looked at Sherlock, down to his laptop and then back at Sherlock before clasping his hands together. "I thought I'd call it _An Essence of June_. In the sense that she sort of pulled both of us into her life. We had a taste of who she is," John hesitated for a moment before realising his mistake when Sherlock's held his gaze. "Who she _was_. Sorry."

"No," Sherlock said. "I like it."

John chewed in his bottom lip just as soon as it had started to rain heavily outside.

"Typical." Sherlock muttered as he rolled his eyes.

John smiled a little. "Hardly surprised. This is England," John watched Sherlock for a while, knowing that he wasn't quite recovered from June's death and that he was still hurting from it. "You know," He continued. "It was clear how much June loved you, Sherlock. I mean she was willing to do anything to save you. The moment she knew that her brother wanted to kill you, she got out of her way to make sure that you were safe from him. She was _really_ in love with you. She said so herself."

"I know." With that, Sherlock picked up _The Point of Pointism_ that he had sitting on his lap all afternoon. He opened the front page just as John went back to writing his blog. He flicked through the pages and noticed that June had circled, highlighted and underlined all her favourite parts, and Sherlock found himself reading them. There was one long paragraph which June had written in the page margin: _A note to Sherlock._ Sherlock laughed aloud, making John jump, as he read the paragraph. It was saying how people shouldn't be so quick to judge and should give them a chance before deducting your own thoughts about them.

"What's so funny?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock stopped laughing and sprung to his feet. "Let's go and annoy Lestrade," He said as he strode across the room to get his coat. "I'm bored and I need another case."

John pursed his lips. "Okay then." He said as he closed his laptop and stood up.

They both ran down the stairs and took a taxi to visit Scotland Yard. Ten minutes later, Lestrade kicked them out saying there was no case for them and that he didn't want to see them for a while seeing as he's only recovering from all that stress and lack of sleep. Both Sherlock and John came running out of Scotland Yard in laughter, laughing at Lestrade's unimpressed reaction when they walked into the office. They stood on the curb of the pavement, catching their breath from laughing. John looked out at the road at the passing cars before turning to Sherlock.

"Do you want to say another final goodbye?" He offered.

Sherlock shifted on the spot, frowning as he opened his mouth to speak but didn't say anything.

"You haven't seen her since the funeral. I thought it would be nice to say farewell for the last time before the next murder pops up."

Sherlock sniffed and nodded.

John smiled before hailing the next taxi. They clambered inside, stopping by a florist on the way to the cemetery. The journey seemed almost like a lifetime as they both stared out the windows, watching London pass by.

Minutes later, Sherlock and John were standing opposite June's and Timothy's grave again. A bunch of roses were clasped in Sherlock's hands. The wind blew harshly as they stared at her grave. John eventually looked up and saw a black woman not far off who was approaching them. Narrowing his eyes, he soon realised that she was Katie, June's old flatmate.

"Thought I'd see you both here." She said as she reached them but neither replied. Katie took in a deep breath as she stood beside them, looking down at the grave. "Funny, I've lived with June for over four years and not even for a second did I believe she was the one and only Judith Harris," She sighed. "I just wonder if I never kicked her out the flat she could still be alive. She was very convincing. I'll give there that but-"

"Could you just shut up, please?" Sherlock snapped in frustration. Katie looked at Sherlock in horror but then she raised her eyebrows as if she wasn't surprised. She bent down and put down an envelope containing a letter she had written beside the gravestone.

"Pay a little bit of respect, Sherlock." She mumbled before walking off.

Sherlock looked at June's grave. "I'm sure June would've loved to see _you_ paying her a little bit of respect." Sherlock said aloud once she was gone.

John glanced at Sherlock and burst out in a laughter he could no longer contain. Sherlock started to chuckle too before crouching down on his knees and putting down the roses.

"Farewell, June Lawrence." He said. He could hear her saying farewell in return in his mind, but he only longed to hear her voice properly for the last time. He sighed and looked down at the ground and screwed his eyes shut tight, trying his hardest not to cry. He admitted to himself that he missed her greatly and after finding out that she was Judith, he wish he wasn't so cold hearted towards her. Memories of being with June flashed through his mind and he could hear her laugh ringing in his ears.

John took a step forward and squeezed Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock rested his hand on top of John's and stayed there for a moment before standing up and looking at her grave again.

"Farewell, June Lawrence," He said again. "I-" His voice faulted. "I love you. Just…just understand that I do." He glanced down at his shoes before slowly looking up at John and holding his gaze.

John half smiled at him sympathetically. Sherlock nodded before clearing his throat. He took John by the shoulder and led him away.

"Where to next, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I don't know, John Watson," Sherlock replied. "But we have the whole world in front of us," He looked at John and smiled. "Let's go and found ourselves a case. We don't always need Lestrade for help."

With that, John laughed again before they left the cemetery.

**The End**


End file.
